


Cruel and Unusual

by YIWT



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 59,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIWT/pseuds/YIWT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Limmet’s fic Poetic Justice, Loki has been sentenced to slavery following the events of Avengers, and is now the property of Tony Stark.</p><p>This story is based on that one - only I’ve gone and added corporal punishment.  (No sexual relationship, just spanking and eventual friendship.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Poetic Justice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/635514) by [Limmet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limmet/pseuds/Limmet). 



 

**A/N:  So, I promised this one was coming, and now here it is.  The end needs a bit of tweaking still but the whole thing is written out, so there shouldn’t be any delays in posting.  I’m planning to post every other day.**

**Like it says on the tin, this fic is based on Poetic Justice by Limmet.  With paddling.**

* * *

“I think,” Stark said out of the blue one morning, “I may have figured out your problem.”

Loki blinked.  His _problem_?  Singular?

“Why you're so scared all the time,” Stark clarified.  “Now don't deny it - you are."

Loki didn't deny it.  How could he, when a sudden move on Stark's part still made his heart hammer, and a raised voice sent him cowering to the floor?

"I think it's just the lack of certainty," Stark said, calm and easy, as if he _weren't_ ripping away the last vestiges of dignity Loki had been pretending to hang on to.  "You're afraid because you have this idea that I'm going to _do_ stuff to you, harmful stuff, and the problem is there's no way for me to prove that I'm not.”  He grinned.  “Except I, peerless genius that I am, have finally thought of something.”

He waited – obviously for an answer.  Loki's food stuck in his throat but after three or four tries he managed to get it down.  “What?” he said at last.

“We are going to establish a method of punishment for when you get on my bad side.  In case this isn't already abundantly clear to you,” he added (dripping with something Loki tried to tell himself was not condescension), “It will be something totally mild and non-terrifying.  But that way, from now on you'll know exactly what harm to expect from me, which will be basically _nothing_ , and you can stop imagining things that are horrible.  Okay?”

He nodded.  It wasn't clear to him how he was supposed to believe that Stark would stick to the promised method, since there was obviously no way to hold him to such a promise, but he kept quiet. 

“Any questions?  Come on, I know you have questions.”

There was no point lying.  “The obvious one,” he said.  “What is the method?”

“Glad you asked that."  He seemed amused.  "We, my friend, are going shopping.”

* * *

After having been trapped inside for so long, with no one but Stark for company (company?), Loki was overwhelmed by the noise and bustle of the city as soon as they stepped outside.  “Wait, I-, I...”  Stark was trying to lead him down the block, a busy street, but there were _people_ everywhere.  Everywhere.  A woman bumped into him and said _excuse me._   A man did, and hissed at him with impatience.

He stood frozen, until Stark doubled back and pulled him to the side, out of the worst crush of the pedestrians.  “Little crowded for you?”

He nodded.  “A moment - please.  I'll acclimate.  It's just I've been...”

“Fair enough.  I thought the subway would be more incognito than my car, but okay: we'll take a cab instead.”  He stepped out into the street and waved until a taxi stopped.  “Bambi?  Get in.”

Loki did as he was told.  The relative quiet of the cab was a relief, but the air inside was even less fresh than the air in Stark Tower and he wanted – _desperately_ – to feel wind on his face. 

He pressed his hand to the glass.  “Does this open?”  He couldn't look Stark in the face – couldn't ask _permission_ of him, for a thing as simple as air.

“Dude, it's freezing,” Stark complained – but he was already leaning over, over Loki's lap, reaching to one of the small buttons in the door.

The window lowered just a crack, but even that was enough to send a powerful stream of air over him, stinging his eyes, mussing his hair.

He found the button himself and opened it more.  It _was_ cold, but it was worth it.  The noise was much more manageable inside the vehicle than it had been on the street, the smells were new, and the wind was glorious.  He closed his eyes and just basked in it.

“Uh–  Scuse me.”  Stark was addressing the driver.  “We're going to twentieth and seventh – but take the West Side Highway.  My friend likes the speed.”

 _My friend._   Loki registered that but was much too busy enjoying the air to feel bitter.  He opened his eyes every now and again to look at the city, but mostly the air was enough.

All too soon the ride was over.  Stark did something with the machinery embedded in the vehicle (which did not seem to be as sensitive as his machinery of his home; it responded only to touch and ignored his muttered curses and commands), and then opened his door.  “Follow me.”

He obeyed.  This street was marginally quieter than the one outside Stark's tower – or perhaps he was just getting used to the noise? – and it sported a few small sickly trees.  “Uh... here we are.”  Stark nodded towards a plain building in poor repair, with no clue as to its contents besides a window display of mannequins wearing some sort of black plastic clothing.  “In we go.  Just follow my lead, okay?”

He nodded.

“Oh, and uh...”  Stark paused with his hand on the door.  Laughed.  “In this store – and this store _only_ – it's appropriate for you to call me _Master._   Okay?  I'll explain later.”

Loki had no idea what was so damned _funny_ about the idea, but as they were here to discuss punishment he thought it a bad time to question orders.  He nodded and followed his _master_ inside.

* * *

The store was terrifying.  It was whips and chains and rods and masks, cages and machines, gags and shackles, phalluses of impossible proportions.  Everything was black and red and silver, dimly lit, and in the distance Loki could hear faint high whimpers of pain.

He swallowed.  Despite himself he stuck a little closer to his keeper.

“Can I help you?” chirped a little mortal female from behind the counter.  Her hair was black and purple, her eyes painted.  She had an enormous ring through her nose, like a bull.

“Hi.  Cool,” Stark observed, nodding at her.  “How would you like _that_ , Bambi?  A facial piercing every time you annoy me.”  He was laughing.  “No?  Fine.  Okay, well, what we're here for is discipline.  _My slave_ needs something to get his ass beat with.  It's for punishment, so I want something that hurts - no feathers and furry handcuffs crap.  But we're new to this, so, it should be something easy to use.  I.e. no whips, nothing I'll accidentally put an eye out with.  Other than that I'll trust your judgment.”

Loki was watching the mortal carefully.  She looked once at him, considering, and then nodded.  “Let me get you a paddle, okay?”  She hopped from her stool and beckoned.  They followed her through the store... towards where the torture noises were coming from.  “Oh – there's a demo in back today,” she said, waving vaguely towards it.  “E-stim.  If you guys are interested.”

Loki stole a glance and Stark seemed as lost as he was.  “Uh, no, we're fine, thanks.  Just the paddle.”

“Okay.  What do you think of this one?”  She selected one from a wall of implements and Loki did his best not to look around, not to remember.  Nothing here looked as vicious as the tools in Asgard, but then, here he was so _weak..._

He remembered the dull shock of a punch to the ribs.  The yellowish bruises, still marking him after days of-

“Hey.  Reindeer Games.”  Stark jostled him.  “You with me?”

He nodded.  Then, remembering his instructions, said: “Yes, master.”

The girl smiled at him, but flirted in Stark's direction.  “On a scale of fragile to average to indestructible, where would you put him?”

“Indestructible, definitely.  I’ve tried.”

“Great.  Then take this one - it can get pretty intense.  Even the side without the studs.”

* * *

Tony watched his charge perk up at the mention of  _studs._   And not in a good way – his forehead creased, and his slow labored breathing became even slower.

Tony realized it with a twist in his stomach: Loki was fighting an actual, honest-to-god freakout.   It took him a second to connect the dots, to remember the bruises Loki had been wearing when he first showed up, the cowering he had done when he thought Tony was angry.

He was really, seriously scared of being beaten up.

Not that Tony didn't want him to fear punishment, but there was a difference between fear and _fear._   He suddenly needed Loki to know that this really didn't merit the latter.

“Um.  One thing, though,” he said.  “I should probably know how hardcore the thing is before I use it.  Is test-driving okay?”  When the girl nodded, he sighed and cracked his knuckles.  “Can you do the honors?”

The girl's smile was sunny.  “Sure!  Lean up against the counter.  If you've got a phone or wallet in your pocket, take it out.”

Loki was still looking pale and shell-shocked; he didn't even seem to register this latest development.  Tony elbowed him.  “Enjoy this, cause it's not a sight you're gonna see again.”  He followed the girl's gesture and braced his hands against the counter.

Then he frowned.  “This is cheating,” he recognized.  “Hold on.  And don't worry – I'm decent.”  He opened his jeans and pushed them down, then resumed position, hands spread and braced.

The air was chilly on his legs – and through his boxers.  All of a sudden he felt vulnerable as hell and he _knew_ this was going to hurt.

“Ready?” the girl said.

“Rudolph: you paying attention?”  He turned to look over his shoulder.

Loki's face was folded into a deep frown of confusion.  Suspicion, even.  When Tony arched eyebrows and waited, he at last gave a nod.  “Yes, master.”

“Okay,” Tony said to the girl, “Go for it.”

* * *

When Stark demanded to see the implement used, Loki was certain they were going to batter him right here, studs and all, punish him for everything he had said and done and failed to do.

 But then when the girl started issuing instructions it became apparent that it was Stark himself she intended to beat – and Stark planned to allow it.  He even voluntarily stripped some of his clothing off, baring himself, and bent over the counter.

It made no sense.  The paddle landed with a harsh _CRACK,_ and Stark gave a short grunt of surprise – and then let out a soft _aaahhh_ through a wide-open mouth.  “Whoa,” he said a moment later, wriggling.  “Damn.”

“Again?” the girl asked, cheerful.

“Uh – yeah, sure.  Okay.”  Stark gripped on the counter hard and sucked his breath in.  This time he took the blow silently, but Loki could see his buttocks flexing and trembling.  “Damn,” he said again, after a bit.  “All right: one more, third time's the charm.”

“And here you go:”  She gave a third stroke.  Stark tensed again, exhaled long and slow, and then bent to pull up his jeans. 

“Intense is right.”  He zipped and buttoned himself.  “And you weren't even hitting that hard.  Yeah – it's perfect.  Thanks.”

Loki could only stare stupidly as Stark paid for the purchase and steered him out onto the street.

* * *

In the cab, Tony sat playing with his new toy through its paper bag.  Loki seemed to have relaxed a little – he wasn't struggling for breath anymore – but he had yet to say a word.

“Awfully quiet, there, Bambi.”

Loki shrugged.

“What's going through your head?”

He expected another shrug.  Perhaps a sullen “nothing.”  Instead, though, Loki looked him full in the face and snapped: “Confusion.  There is no explanation for what you just did other than-... other than the one you gave.” 

“That I wanted to make sure this thing wouldn't really hurt you?”  Tony ran his fingers over the studs and tried to move past a sense of guilt.  For once in his life, he _wasn't_ being an asshole.  “That I wanted to go first so you could chill out and realize it's not a big deal?”

“Yes.  All of that.”  Loki looked highly suspicious.  “If you just wanted to see the weapon in action you'd have had the shopkeep demonstrate it on _me._   But you asked to be struck yourself.  Why?  You say it's out of concern for _my_ welfare, but..."  He trailed off into silence, and then laughed bitterly.  "Forgive me, but of course I don't believe that.  Nobody volunteers to be beaten for my sake."

Tony sighed.  Loki wasn’t going to like this, but it had to be said.  “ _I_ do," he said, "Because unfortunately I no longer have the luxury of not giving a crap about your welfare.  You _belong_ to me, remember?  You're legally incapable of taking care of yourself – and it's my responsibility to do it for you.  Lucky me.”

Loki still didn't look convinced.

“Well, look, before I break your brain by being too nice, just listen to this."  Tony brandished the bag.  "When we get home... yeah."  He grinned as Loki got it.  "First, because if _I_ have to suffer it so do you, and second, I don't want you _worrying_ with it hanging over your head.  Okay?  After today you will know _exactly_ what to expect when you piss me off.  And then maybe you can take a chill pill.  Or twenty.”

* * *

When they got inside Stark's confidence melted away and he began to look uncomfortable _._   “Okay, well, fair's fair,” he said, mostly to the floor.  “Pants off – keep the boxers though, for God's sake – and lean up against the table or the couch or something.”

Loki did as he was told.  His stomach was knotted up and he had no understanding of why – other than that it had nothing – _nothing_ – to do with the fear of pain.

Stark took the paddle out and hefted it.  “Uh... okay.  You get three.  You ready?”

Loki nodded and looked at his hands.

“Here you go: one.”  Like his _master,_ he gave a soft grunt on the first stroke; as prepared as he tried to be it still took his breath away.  Not so much painful, but... jarring.  “Okay?  Two.”   At the second blow he hissed; now it burned.  “And, three:”  He made _noise_ that last time, a short gasp.

Afterwards Stark threw the paddle down on the couch and patted him easily on the shoulder.  “There – all done.  Pants up and let's talk a second.  Sit.”

Stark was gesturing to the couch, so Loki zipped his jeans and sat down on it.

The sitting brought an unexpected twinge, which must have shown on his face because Stark snickered at him.  "Little tender?"

“In the dungeons of Asgard it was a good day for me if no bones were broken,” he said stiffly.  Almost proudly.  He knew the tone was absurd but he couldn't soften it.  “This was nothing by comparison.”

Stark grew more serious.  "Okay. So tell me how it was - how it felt."

“Mildly unpleasant, I suppose,” he reported.  “It stung.”

Stark waved that off.  “I _know_ what it feels like physically.  That’s not what I meant.”  He waited.

Loki drew himself up: whatever he was made to say or do, he would at least do with dignity.  "It felt humiliating and ridiculous," he said.  Steady.  "No doubt exactly as you intended."

Stark was quiet a moment.  "What I _intend,_ " he said at last, "Is for you to stop walking on eggshells.  Not that I want you back to your dickish old self or anything, but it's safe to be, you know, _normal_ around me.  Okay?"

Loki nodded as if he believed; Stark would be insulted otherwise.

“For example,” Stark went on.  “My name.  I'm sure it's considered _disrespectful_ where you come from for, uh, people in your situation to use first names with people in mine.  But.  I don't give a crap about that kind of thing.  Call me Tony, call me Stark, call me Man of Iron if you really have to.  Call me whatever you want, because if you talk to me in some way that I find offensive, the worst that's going to happen is a couple of swats with the paddle.  Clear?”

Hmm.  Unlike the vague blanket reassurances Stark had been mouthing over the last few weeks, _this_ promise at least he might be able to test.  If he could summon up the courage from somewhere.

“Same goes for _any_ inappropriate or annoying behavior," Stark insisted.  "This is the rule, so listen good: unless you're trying to do something actually harmful, a spanking is _all_ you ever have to be afraid of from me, period.  I promise.  Okay?”

He nodded again.  Thoughtfully, this time.

* * *

**  TBC.   **

**Next chapter will be up day after tomorrow.  It’s shorter than this one; most of what I have is in chunks of 1500 words or so.**

**So...let me know what you think!**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the delay - AO3 seemed to be down last night.  Here you go!**

**[[Two days later]]**

* * *

The shower looked fine when Tony turned it on, but just as he was stepping in, the spray turned blue.

Hmm. "Uh: Jarvis? We got a dead smurf in the plumbing?"

"No, sir. Mr. Laufeyson placed blue food-coloring in the showerhead. In ice."

Not bad on a day's notice with only a couple of hours alone in the house. Tony showered without even waiting for the water to clear all the way, because a little dye had never killed anybody, then threw on sweats and went out to the living room still toweling off his hair.

Loki was standing stiffly beside the couch, pale and pinched and hardly breathing.

"Congratulations, Bambi: You have successfully committed a spankable offense. Assume the position."

Loki  _melted_ with relief _,_ sighing, shoulders dropping. He unzipped his pants and bent over the arm of the couch – but it took a minute; his hands were shaking.

"You know, I figured you'd test me," Tony said as he went and dug the paddle out of the cabinet. "But I was expecting something a little less, y'know, spectacular. Call me some names or something."

Loki's shoulders rippled – a bent-over shrug. "Either you meant what you said, or you didn't."

"Mm. Kudos to you for having the balls to check." Tony was close enough to see that Loki was breathing now. "Now let's see. You got three the other day, but that was just a test run. This is the real deal. So... five?"

Another shrug.

Hm. Tony needed the assistance of a shrink here, because he suddenly  _knew_ there was something significant about Loki refusing to participate in the sentencing process. Phrases flitted through his mind about children  _owning their behavior_ and powerlessness and that kind of thing, but he didn't want to stand here too long puzzling it out because Loki was waiting for him. "Okay, five. You ready?"

Nod.

He hit lightly, so lightly it probably didn't even hurt, until the last stroke, which he delivered with a fair bit of zest. The guy had to have  _some_ punishment.

Loki yelped, then stood up frowning. "That last startled me," he explained, as if he expected to be laughed at.

But Tony just shrugged. "Sorta like my water quality this morning, I guess."

Loki huffed – almost a laugh, maybe? Then he grew very serious. "I won't make a habit of mischief. I only-."

"Wanted to test. I get it." Loki nodded – and Tony realized that this might be the clearest communication they had had, ever. Loki was talking frankly – or at least nodding yes or no – so it seemed like a good time to clean up some outstanding issues. "By the way," he said. "In addition to pranking, allow me to mention another thing that'll get you whacked." Loki's patented look of worry creased his face, but he didn't shut down or flee, so Tony went on. "You finished the milk again this morning. Don't get me wrong, you're welcome to eat whatever,  _when_ ever... but the polite thing to do when you use something up is to order more. You don't put empty containers back in the fridge – you throw it away, and tell Jarvis we're out. I don't want to find any more finished milk cartons in there, mmkay? They don't do a body any good."

Loki's frown deepened. He looked puzzled. "But I've been doing that all along."

"Yeah, I know."

There was a long silence. When he spoke again he sounded tense – almost urgent. "What  _else_  have I been doing wrong?" he said. "And-, and why didn't you  _tell_ me?"

Until now Tony had been pretty good about being compassionate where Loki was concerned, but now he found himself getting a little prickly. "I have no idea why. Since after all you're such a big fan of constructive criticism." Oops, the sarcasm had kicked in now and it wasn't stopping. "It's not like you'd ever, oh I don't know,  _chuck me out a window_ if I ran my mouth. And these days it's certainly not like you'd break down and piss yourself."

Another long silence. Tony started to feel bad. "Okay, sorry. That was a low blow, and-, and pretty fucked-up. Sorry."

"Why apologize?" Loki flashed a wide, unhappy smile. "How many times must this be explained to you? Nothing you could possibly do to me would require an apology;  _I have no rights for you to violate_."

"Look-... stop."

"You can say anything you like to me. Be as cruel as you want to be. You can beat me, too –  _really_ beat me, not just go through the motions of it. You can set me to labor that's taxing  _as well as_ tedious, dress me in  _worse_ than your old rags – come, you act like you don't know what to do with a slave at all!"

The dig about his clothes was really the last straw.  _Old rags_  for some of his favorite t-shirts? "Okay, now that's  _enough_ ," he said with authority.

Loki spread his hands and made a deep bow. "This slave begs you to cut out its tongue if it has offended you, Master," he purred. "This slave is-"

" _SHUT. THE FUCK. UP._ " That got silence. They glared at each other.

Loki broke first. He turned away and ran both hands over his hair. "What?" Tony pressed him. "What's the problem?"

"I don't like that I've been displeasing you," he explained, soft now but unsteady _._ "I need to avoid doing that. You could do  _anything_ to me in retaliation."

Tony sighed. "No, actually, I couldn't."

A bitter laugh. "Thor wouldn't stop you. He wouldn't  _like_ it, perhaps, but he would not interfere."

"Stop being an ass, Bambi. I mean I couldn't because  _I_  couldn't. The things you're scared of are just... not even on the table. You just have to trust me."

It was a while before Loki responded. With just a helpless head-shake.

Tony sighed. "Okay, well, I get it. Trust takes time, right?" As bad as the talk was going it was  _still_ better than nothing, so instead of letting Loki flee the room he went ahead. "And you know what else trust takes?"

"What, Stark?" Weary as anything...  _but he'd said Tony's name._  And even turned to make eye contact. Progress!

"It takes consistency. What did I tell you would happen if you gave me a nickname I don't like?"

Loki's jaw dropped.

"That's right. Rules are rules – I  _know_  we've discussed not using the M-word. Drop your pants."

A brief, almost childish scowl crossed his face, but he bent over the couch again without arguing.

"Five again." He hit a little harder this time, because clearly the last set had had no effect, and afterwards he planted a hand hard on Loki's back to stop him from rising. "Now, say you're sorry. When you do something wrong, you're supposed to apologize."

"I'm sorry."

It was a rote apology and not very satisfying. "Sorry for  _what_?"

"For using the M-word."

"And more broadly?"

"More broadly...?"

"For getting pissy with me about this whole fucked-up situation.  _It's not my fault._  Do you get that?"

"Yes."

"Say it. In your own words – and I'd better believe it, or you'll spend the rest of the weekend lying here getting your ass paddled. Maybe I'll even build a machine to do it, save myself the bother." (He could, actually.)

Loki took his time – long enough that Tony started to wonder whether he might refuse to cooperate. He hoped that didn't happen. He'd had no intention of butting heads... but he  _definitely_ wasn't about to butt heads and  _lose_. Fortunately, though, Loki did the smart thing. "I recognize that it's not your fault I'm in a precarious and miserable position," he said at last. "I apologize for spewing anger in your direction."

"Thank you." Tony let him up. "Good boy. Apology accepted. What do you want for lunch?"

* * *

**TBC.**

**Next chapter will have some Thor. Expect it Thursday.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

 

A/N:  Glad you guys are enjoying!  Although it makes me want to really write a whole play-by-play saga.  Instead, what I have is chunks that take place after some time has passed.  So...

 

* * *

 

** [[Some Days Later.  Thor is visiting.]] **

 

“What the _fuck_!”  Stark's voice echoed from the kitchen – angry.  A heavy metallic slam.  “The ice cream's all gone!”

Loki flinched at the first sound of his raised voice (as he should.  But Thor pretended not to notice; Loki got upset whenever attention was drawn to his station.).  Then he swore and ran his hand hard through his hair.  “Damn – I was supposed to order more.  I forgot.  He said to-.  Damn.”

Damn indeed.  Loki had apparently been ordered to restock his master's kitchen and had failed.  Such carelessness would certainly be punished.  Thor fought down the urge to throttle Loki for putting himself in danger; Loki surely wouldn't appreciate such an action even if it was concern at its heart.  “Brother-...”  What could he do to help?

Loki sighed and shook his head, resigned.  “Just stay out of it.”  Then he rose from the couch, straightening just in time to see Stark reappear in the doorway brandishing an empty cardboard that was apparently supposed to contain ice cream. 

“ _You_.” Stark said, loud and accusing.  “You porked up all my ice cream.  What did I tell you about replenishing what you eat?”

What _you_ eat?  Thor felt his face go stupid.  _Loki_ had eaten up the food meant for his master.  Without permission.

This was theft.  A serious offense.  Apparently not a first offense, either.  “Loki-...”  But he stopped, because what was he going to say?

“Shut up, Thor,” Loki snapped without turning to look.  He spread his hands.  “Stark...”  (At least he knew enough to control his tone – he'd gone low and placating.).  “I beg you: not in front of Thor."

Thor stood too - all his protective instincts up; Loki was _begging._   “Not _what_ in front of Thor?”  No answer was forthcoming, so he turned his attention to Stark.  “How is my brother to be punished?”  He wished his voice were more steady.  But the thought was upsetting, more than he'd expected.  He knew it was not his place to interfere, he _would not_ interfere, and yet...

Stark sighed.  He turned and tossed the empty container back into the kitchen, then looked from Loki to Thor and back again.

“Of course I wasn't gonna do it in front of your brother, Bambi,” he said.  He made a face.  “Except now I _have_ to, because otherwise he's going to leave wondering what the hell I _do_ to you when the guests are all gone.”

“Then I'll _tell_ him,” Loki insisted.  “I'll satisfy his wretched curiosity and send him out.”  Before Stark had time to answer, he explained quickly:  “Thor, the punishment is nothing of consequence; I merely submit to a, a, a brief and ritualized token beating; it does me no harm but it's undignified and you can't watch.  Now _go._ ”

Stark snorted.  “A _ritualized token beating,_ ” he repeated.  “A much fancier way of saying: little Bambi gets _spanked_ when he's naughty.”

Loki sucked in his breath and turned away.  He radiated humiliation and resentment... but he was not afraid.

Thor forced himself to accept that that was enough.  This was between Loki and his master; it was none of his business, and now that Loki's safety was not in question he had no possible justification for meddling.  “I needn't watch you chastise my brother,” he volunteered.  “I'll off to bed.  Goodnight, Man of Iron.  And-, goodnight, Loki,” he said in Loki's direction, but Loki wouldn't look at him.

“Thor.”  Stark stopped him by the door.  “I won't hurt him.  I never have.”

He forced a smile.  “I know.”  And he _did._   “Goodnight.”

He left, and as he walked down the hall he could hear them.  Stark first.  "Hey.  You okay?"

“That was...awful.”

Stark laughed.  “Yeah, well, I refuse to feel bad.  I _really_ wanted some ice cream.”

“Sorry.  I _am_ sorry.  I forgot.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stark dismissed lazily.  “Get your ass over there.”

Thor paused before his door.  If he stayed here he could still hear what transpired, assure himself that nothing terrible was being done.  He _did_ believe the Iron Man.  He did.  But still...

_CRACK._ The sound was crisp – and loud.

“ _AOUW_!”  Loki made a strange noise of pain, and then:  “Stark!”

“Oh – sorry.”  Stark said, pretending at casual innocence.  “From what you said before, I got the impression I haven't been hitting you hard enough.  _Nothing of consequence,_ was it?”

“I misspoke.  What I meant to say, of course, was that you always act with exactly the appropriate amount of force.  Your skill with a paddle is unmatched."  His tone was smooth and honeyed; too honeyed.  Thor winced.  Loki had always been a skilled liar but perhaps he was losing his touch; even a mortal surely could hear that he was insincere. 

But Stark laughed “Damn straight, baby,” and Thor realized then that Loki was joking - _with_ Stark, and not at his expense.  He tried not to feel jealous.  "Then I _guess_ I can find it in my heart to be nice again." Stark was pretending at grudge - joking as well.  “Relax.”

Thor could barely hear the remainder of the blows, quiet _pops_ that Loki took in silence. 

“All right?” Stark said.  It couldn't have been more than half a dozen strokes in all.

“All right.”  Loki sighed.  “Sorry about the ice cream.”

“Forgiven.”  A creak – a cabinet, maybe?  Stark putting the weapon away.  “Til next time.”

They both chuckled. 

Thor was happy.  He was!  He was relieved that Loki was not being treated with any harshness - he _was_.  Truly was. 

...but it would be a lie to say that camaraderie wasn’t a little upsetting in its own way.

* * *

**[After Thor's departure]**

Stark walked in _just_ as he was putting the broom away.  He looked suspicious.  “Sweeping, princess?”

Loki nodded – swearing inwardly; he needed Stark _not_ to ask him what happened.  He was more than happy to neglect to mention the incident, but he didn’t yet feel comfortable with lying.

“Why?”  Stark’s voice was bright and innocent.

Loki shrugged – throat thick, for some reason.  Couldn’t answer.

“Hm.  Didn't there used to be a vase on this counter?”

_Shit._ He should have known Stark would notice immediately.  He had not yet had time to _think_ , and he didn’t yet have a plan for handling the inevitable discovery.  He swallowed hard to get his voice ready.  “It broke.”

“Mm-hm.”  Stark came close and put his elbows on the counter.  Folded his hands primly and rested his chin on them.  “Could I please get some clarity on _how_ it broke?  If you don’t mind.”

“It-.  Thor and I were arguing.”  About the proper procedure surrounding the flushing of toilets, a topic which now seemed so silly that he couldn't even bear to recount it.  But Thor had been _wrong_ \- and in any event, if some etiquette breach were committed it would not be Thor who suffered.  He should have deferred, immediately.  But instead he had insisted, driving home all over again how the days of anybody deferring to Loki were over.

“And… wild guess here…" Stark went on into the silence, "One of you threw my vase at the other?”

He nodded.

Stark waited.  Loki waited too, hoping that he would go away, but instead he finally prompted: “I can’t generally tell pitchers from catchers just by looking.”

“What?” he said, even though it was no great mystery what Stark was asking.

“You’re a smart guy, Loki.  Answer me.”

He could hardly breathe.  He didn’t know _why,_ because surely Stark would not be _too_ angry about this, but…  “I did it.”  He almost couldn’t get the words out.

“Figured,” Stark said easily.  Then added:  “I don’t think throwing shit at Thor is a _big deal_ by the way, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  He emphasized the phrase with the performance of air quotes.  (Loki had learned about air quotes last week).  "In fact there's plenty of times when I think it would make total sense."

The odd knot in his chest loosened a little.  “I know.  _I_ broke it,” he said with a little more conviction.  “Are you going to beat me?”

Stark winced.  “Stop saying _beat,_ ” he declared.  “It sounds so… violent.  I prefer _spank._ ”

Loki’s turn to wince.  “That sounds ridiculous.”

“Yep.”  Stark nodded.  “Ri _donk_ ulus, even.”

“What?”

“Earth word.  Means very ridiculous.”

He knew that was the whole point, but still.  He could only stomach so much indignity.  “Well… could we use another word?”

Stark appeared to consider.  “I was going to say _no,_ ” he said, “Until I realized this might be the first rule you’ve ever tried to negotiate with me.  So: in honor of you making your first living-conditions-related request _ever_ , I’m going to go ahead and agree.”

_If I’d known that, I would have asked for something much more significant_.  “Thank you.”

Stark smirked.  “...Even though I think _spanking_ is exactly what you need.”

Anger surged … but he squashed it down immediately.  It seems that thus far Stark was allowing him to cop attitudes, but it would not be wise to take that permissiveness for granted.  One slip-up in front of someone else – or, theoretically, in front of Stark himself if he ever changed his mind – and he would be in a world of trouble.

Perhaps sensing his mood, Stark wiped the smirk from his face and asked more seriously: “So: what did you have in mind?”

He thought quickly.  Nothing to suggest violence, then, but something that could be taken seriously at least.  Something neutral.  “Punish?” he suggested

Stark bobbed his head thoughtfully.  “That’s accurate, at least.”

“All right.”  Loki closed the broom closet.  “Are you going to punish me for breaking your vase?”

Stark shrugged.  “That depends.  Are there extenuating circumstances I don’t know about?”

He considered, for just a moment, trying to invent some.  But in the end he couldn’t summon up the nerve.  "Does blinding rage count?" he said, already unzipping.

Stark snorted, clearly amused.  "Couch, pal.  As much as I’m sure the broski deserved it, I’ve totally told you not to break my stuff.”

* * *

 

It was the second time in two days that Loki had fusslessly accepted consequences for doing something wrong.  With resignation and even a little humor, now, instead of terror.  That seemed like progress and he wanted to be friendly in return, so instead of lecturing he asked: “Did you get him?”

“What?”

“Thor,” Tony said, and whacked.  “Just wondering whether you got him.  Or whether my vase died in vain.”

“Oh.”  Loki huffed with amusement – and then hissed as he was swatted again.  “No, I have excellent aim.  I called his name and when he turned to look, he caught it full in the face.”

Tony wished he could have seen that.  “At least it was worth it.”

“Absolutely.  _Mmh_.”

He'd tensed at that one, and Tony found himself making a soothing little motion with-...

...the hand on Loki's lower back.  Why was his hand on Loki's lower back at all?  He removed it.  “Is that five?”

“Mm, I don't think so.”  Loki shrugged.  “But I'm satisfied if you are.”

“Nice try.”  Tony smacked him again.  “Okay, good enough.  Now what do you say?”

“I'm sorry I broke your vase,” Loki intoned, sounding far more mockingly long-suffering than sorry.

Tony let him up anyway.  “Did you really...?”  he gestured to his face.

Loki nodded.  “Perhaps your machines have it on video.”  He really _didn't_ look sorry, at all, but it was so rare to see him looking pleased that Tony considered it a vase well spent.

* * *

 

**TBC**

**Let me know what you think so far!**


	4. Chapter 4

** [[Couple of Weeks Later]]**

When Tony walked in at two in the morning, Loki was in the living room.  Awake.  He looked Tony up and down fast, and frowned.

That rubbed Tony the wrong way.  Tony Stark didn't have a curfew!  And he was certainly not answerable to _his slave_ for how he felt like spending his time.  “You didn't have to wait up for me,” he said, with a fair bit of belligerence.

“I was-.” 

He stopped in time, but Tony snorted and took a guess.  “You were what – _worried_ about me?  That it, mommy?”

Loki was looking away, and gave a tight shrug that clearly meant _yes_.  “I didn't know where you were – and I’d thought you were coming home.”

“Well I didn't feel like it.  I had meetings all day until seven, okay, and then afterwards I felt like getting a drink, so-”

He cut himself off suddenly, as a memory of their breakfast conversation burst over him with perfect clarity.  _I have meetings all day today, until seven.  After that we can go for a walk or something if you want.  I'll be in dire need of fresh air._

 _That’s_ why Loki was up waiting for him, in his favorite new jeans.  “Oh-... shit.  Loki, I'm sorry.”

No answer.

“I'm really-, shit, I completely forgot I said I would– yeah.  I totally forgot.”

“No, it's- it's all right.”  Loki fidgeted.  “I shouldn't have-... I should have just gone to bed.”

“No.  No, you were right.  I stood you up – that's not okay.  I'm sorry.  Really.  Shit.”

It felt inadequate.  But what the hell else was he supposed to say?

* * *

 “I'll, I'll make it up to you.  Tomorrow?  No, I have a-... but I can do Thursday.  I can take you out all Thursday afternoon, okay?  Will that...?”

Loki wanted to laugh.  The apologizing, the stammering... _Bizarre._   As if Stark expected him to rage or remonstrate.

But Stark got uncomfortable when reminded that apologies could only reasonably flow in one direction between them.  “I appreciate that, thank you,” he said instead, and turned back to his book.  It was a lie, though.  Exhausted by hours of fear and dulled by the liquor he’d used to control it, he felt nothing.

And he knew that sulking alone in his dark airless bedroom would not likely help.  “I'm going to stay up and read a while longer,” he said.  “Unless you need anything?”  Once or twice Stark had made him help prepare food at times like this, when he was too drunk to do it himself.

“No, I-.  I got it.  I'm not wasted.  I was at a sports bar, mostly just watching the fights.  I’m almost sober.”

 _I'm not._   But he didn’t say it - and his stomach clenched suddenly when he realized that for all he knew the liquor he had downed without permission was expensive or worse - a rare vintage from halfway across the realm, perhaps, or a gift from a dead lover.  If he’d been thinking, he would have watered down what was left to prevent detection.  But he hadn’t.  He’d been so busy panicking about what would happen to him if Stark _didn’t_ come back that it hadn’t occurred to him to plan contingencies for when Stark _did_.

He looked back down at his book and tried hard to focus on it.  Couldn’t.

It didn’t much matter though, because a moment later Stark was standing over him, prodding him insistently with the paddle.

“Hey.  Bambi.”

Loki looked up, stupid.  _Why?_   His liquor theft hadn’t yet been noticed.  And he hadn't said anything rude or...?

“Cmon – get up.  Fair's fair.”

It _wasn't_ fair, but what of it?  It was Stark's prerogative to beat him for any reason or no reason at all, so why he was feeling this strange tightness in his chest, this sense of _betrayal_ , was a mystery.

Whatever his feelings, though, obedience was really the only course.  He set his book down and rose, and kept his tone bland and polite.  "Have I done something to annoy you?"

He was already halfway over to the couch when he realized that Stark was not following him.

“No no,” Stark said.  “Not you.  _Me._ ”  And he came and shoved the paddle into Loki's hands.

Loki blinked.

“DD is only fair if it goes both ways,” Stark declared.  “ _You'd_ get your ass beat for breaking a promise to _me,_ so... good for the goose, right?”

“Goose?”  (Had he somehow discovered the missing vodka after all?)  And what was meant by _deedee?_

Stark rolled his eyes.  “Never mind.  It's one of those earth phrases.”  He opened his pants and then took them off entirely, explaining: “These wrinkle.”  He hung them over the back of the couch and then stepped around to the arm.  “So: I'm sorry I didn't show up tonight.  Go for it.”

There was only one reasonable interpretation of the situation, but still it was best to be certain.  “Are you telling me to strike you?”

“Yep.”  Stark spoke up briskly.  “You know the drill.  I screwed up, I get smacked.  Same as you.”

 _The drill._   “Five times?”

“If you think that's enough.  I know it was a big screw-up.”  Stark waited for his answer.

The rush of power was warm and unfamiliar.  How long had it been since he'd had _power_ over anyone?

But it was probably best not to abuse it.  “Five,” he decided.  “Forgetting about me was surely no worse than my putting dye in your shower.”

Stark laughed at that – then gasped as the first blow landed.  “ _AH-_!  Ow, fuck, that _burns_.”

 _Pathetic mortal weakling_.  But he crushed that thought down immediately; his master’s goodwill was a priceless treasure that he must never, ever put in jeopardy.  “Shall I stop?”

Stark heaved a sigh.  “No you shall not _stop,_ Rudolph.  God, it's like you've never heard of fricking _punishment_ before.  I'm not _supposed_ to like it.  Go on.”

As the man was visibly bracing himself to withstand, kid gloves would probably be an insult.  “Very well,” he said coolly, and swung the paddle hard again.

“ _Eee._   Jeez.  How many is that now – three?  Four?”

Loki _tsked_ and poked him with the weapon’s edge.  “That was two.  Either you're drunker than you look, or....”

Stark shifted and settled in.  “Fine, two,” he sulked.  “Do the rest.”

“All right.  _Three_.” 

He sucked his breath in.  “We're doing a little experiment after this.”

Loki waited until the squirming stopped before continuing.  “What sort of experiment?  _Four._ ”

“Tell you in a second.  Hold on.  Fucking burns.  Fucking _burns_!Hold on....  Okay go.”

“And _five_.” 

“ _Ow._ ”  Stark rose from the couch and paced around it, rubbing briskly at his rear.  “Ow, ow ow _ow._ Hey – I'm sorry about tonight, okay?”

“Forgiven.”  (That was a lie – he was still too raw to give any real thought to forgiveness yet, but he knew the drill.)

Stark eventually stopped rubbing.  “All right: experiment time.  Pillow.”  He set one up against the couch (still in his underwear, which was ridiculous.).  “I want to test something.  Hit this – as hard as you were hitting me.  I want to see.”

Loki shrugged and did as he was told.  The pillow made a satisfying _thwack_ – though hitting Stark had certainly been _more_ satisfying.

Stark was watching with his arms crossed.  “Okay... okay, good.  I thought so.  Now gimme.”  He handed the paddle over.  “Watch: for the record, this is how hard _I_ hit _you_.”

Resentment flared up instantly.  Stark would mock him for his weak mortal physique?  As if it were his _choice_ to be without his powers.  As if he were even given an opportunity to exercise and make himself stronger.  As if-

... Oh.

It turned out Stark's paddle stroke was not a show of strength at all; rather, it was a tiny flick of his wrist, which spat the instrument lightly against the pillow, almost too lightly to make a sound.  “Oh,” he said.  He swallowed.

“It's fine.”  Stark resumed rubbing at himself.  “Seriously.  I just wanted to make sure I wasn't doing that to _you_ every time I, you know.”

Loki shook his head.  “As I’ve said, it's scarcely painful.”

“Good.”  Stark winced.  “ _Damn_ though, Bambi.  You got a mean swing.”

A complaint, compliment, a request for instruction?  He couldn’t tell, so took the safest course.  “It's from the elbow, not the wrist.”

“Kay.  I'll keep that in mind for next time,” Stark said as he put the paddle away.

But the warning tone in his voice was playful - he plainly meant to do no such thing.

* * *

**TBC.**

**So, upon re-reading what I've written, I now think I should retroactively slap a warning on this story: _Fluff._ Usually my stories are decidedly non-fluffy, so I feel like especially given the title of this people might come in with the wrong idea.  So, let me warn you now: nothing terrible is going to happen to anybody here.  If that disappoints you... sorry!  **

 


	5. Chapter 5

**[Some time later.]**

Tony prided himself on (sometimes) learning from his mistakes.  So, since last time he had gone AWOL Loki had freaked out and polished off half a bottle of Grey Goose by himself, this time he decided he would sit the guy down and explain the plan in advance.

“I have a business trip coming up.  Big conference.  I’ll be gone four days.  Are you okay to stay here alone?”

He sincerely hoped the answer was yes, since he wasn’t about to turn Loki loose on a civilian or turn an Avenger loose on Loki.  And leaving him and Thor together?  Ha.

Loki opened his mouth a couple of times, changing his mind, and finally came out with: “Will there be risk to your life?”

Risk...?  “Aw that’s sweet.  I didn’t know you cared.”  Then he got it - and felt like an asshole.  “If I die, then something bad happens to you,” he realized.

Nod.

“What, exactly?  For my own edification.”

“If they suspected me of having a hand in it I'd be killed - an ugly death,” Loki said matter-of-factly.  “Otherwise, Odin would have me returned to the dungeons while he selected a new owner.”  _Owner_.  “I don’t know how long that would take.  He’d choose an Asgardian this time - longer life span; so a more permanent solution.  The worst case scenario, which I would not put past him, is that he would gift me to someone with a grudge.  The best case scenario would be someone who plays it straight, and just treats me as slaves are meant to be treated.  Do you want to know what _that_ is?” 

“Thanks, but I get the idea.”  He’d gleaned more than enough from the weird things Loki had said and done.  Given all that, he didn’t really have the heart to point out that even if he didn’t lead a ridiculously dangerous life - which he did - he wasn’t good for more than another half century or so anyway.  They would have to take the issue up with Daddy Dearest at some point.  Maybe Thor had a good idea about how to approach him.  In any event.  “Don’t worry, other than possibly dying of boredom I am not running any danger on this trip,” he said firmly.  “And I’ll leave you a phone so you can check up on me.”

Loki was a pretty quick study; he had the hang of the phone in no time.  As well as the entertainment system, the kitchen, and the gym downstairs.  And the bar - now that he knew his guest liked to tie one on every now and again, he thought it only humane to leave him a reasonable supply of booze.  Someday they’d have to arrange for a bartender to come and do some kind of tasting, but in the meantime he just green-lighted everything except the tippy top shelf and pointed out a cocktail book in case Loki wanted to experiment.  Tony _knew_ the guy was all set up for a perfectly pleasant couple of days of staycation, and yet...

“You gonna be okay?” he asked for the hundredth time.

The look Loki gave him was well on the way to impatient.  “Of course,” he said.  “What is your concern?  And is there anything in particular you wish me to _do_ while you're away?”

“No, just... watch some movies, learn some earth culture, whatever.”  Tony still felt kind of bad; he wouldn’t leave a _cat_ alone for four days without company.  “And think of someplace you want to go,” he added.  “When I get back we'll take a field trip somewhere.”  … _If you don't act up while I'm gone._   But he didn’t say it aloud; he figured that much was understood, and so far Loki had shown no signs of acting up at all. 

* * *

He did use the exercise room once Stark was gone.  The mechanical servant answered questions when he asked them aloud, and the machines themselves were excellent at demonstrating what it was he was supposed to be doing with them.  It turned out that exercising his frail mortal body wasn't as disheartening as he'd expected – the machines were all unfamiliar, so he had no point of comparison and didn't have to know exactly how easy it would have been to operate them at his full strength.

When he was finished running (through a simulated forest – somehow the machines knew that he would rather see a screen of trees than more television), he found water and a towel waiting for him on a table.  He poured the water on himself to clean off and rode the elevator back upstairs, toweling off his hair as he went. 

By now it had gotten dark.  Out of habit he almost crossed the living room and turned on the reading lamp himself, but he remembered the way Stark always entered and...  “Can I get some light in here?”

“Certainly, Mr. Laufeyson.”

It spoke to him with a deference he had thought never to hear again.  He had to wonder: was it proper?  Did he actually outrank a slave machine?

He decided he did.  (And, anyway, the worst that would happen if he was wrong was Stark would lazily chastise him with the paddle again.)

“I don't like that name,” he said firmly.  “Don't use it.”

“Very well, sir.  How would you prefer to be addressed?”

_Your Highness._   He wanted it so badly he could taste it.

He knew it was a bad idea, though.  And it would only make him miserable in the end, taunting him with something he had lost forever.  “I don't know.”

“How about _Bambi_ , sir?”

“No!” he barked, but then felt he owed the machine an explanation.  “That's a name by which Stark mocks me.  I won't have mockery from you as well.”

“Forgive me, sir, but you're wrong.”

Oh: perhaps he did not outrank the machine at all.

Then the machine went on:  “I don't detect mockery in Mr. Stark's voice when he addresses you as _Bambi_.  Only when he uses _princess._ ”

Loki swallowed.  “I see.”  There was a lot to think about there, but he began with the easiest issue.  “You can read Stark's intentions in his tone of voice?”

“Yes, sir.  With approximately ninety-three percent accuracy.”

“Can you read mine?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.  I haven't been instructed to compile the necessary data.  I can try to revisit all my recordings...  No,” it added half a second later.  “There is not enough material; I haven’t been exposed to a wide enough range of your speech or emotions.”

Good; he didn't need the machine spying on him any more effectively than it did already.  He wanted to go on and ask _what DOES Stark mean when he speaks to me,_ but surely the machine would report the conversation, and then Stark would think him pathetic.

He kept his mouth shut, stubbornly, for a while.  But the room was too quiet, and he felt that the machine was waiting for him.  “Jarvis?” he said at last.

“Yes, sir?”

_Talk to me_ was pathetic.  And he would not talk to a _thing_.

But Stark had left him a phone, he realized.  He could talk to a person.  “Jarvis, will the phone I have call anyone besides Stark?”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _May_ I call anyone besides Stark?”

“Yes, sir.  None of my special instructions about you mention phone calls, so I assume that the usual hospitality protocols apply.  Guests can phone anyone they like.”

“Excellent.”  Loki activated the phone but paused over the screen of keys.  Who exactly was he going to telephone?  Thor?  No one else knew he was here, and-...

But they didn't have to know who he was, did they.  “Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I'm bored and I want to converse with someone.  A stranger will do.  Are you able to find me a phone number of someone who will talk to me?”

“Of course, sir.  Dialing now.”

He brought the phone back over to the couch and settled in.

* * *

Tony argued with himself the whole way home about whether Loki was going to get paddled for this or not.  It seemed he _should_ , but on the other hand, he hadn't technically violated any of the rules Tony had laid down. 

Anyway, it had probably done the poor guy some good.

But still.  He couldn't resist bringing it up.  “Did you miss me?” he said when he walked in and dumped his luggage on the floor.

“Actually, yes,” Loki said peacefully from the couch.  “It was very quiet without you.”

“Mm.”  There were _so many_ jokes he wanted to crack.

“What?” Loki sad at last, frowning at him. 

He tried not to sound stupidly gleeful.  “Oh… nothing.”

“ _What,_ Stark?”

All of a sudden his self-control broke and he blurted it out straight.  “You ran up _over a thousand dollars_ on a phone sex line.  Jesus Christ – how did you even _do_ that!?  You must have a refractory period of like three minutes.  Or else it takes you like six hours to come.  Or was it a phone _orgy_ , with a bunch of different girls?  Or what?”

Loki was staring at him.  “I-... beg your pardon?”

“Come on: spill.  I want to know.”

“You want to know…?”

“I wanna know _everything_.  Start from the top: you were having phone sex...” he prompted.

“Phone sex?”  It sounded like he had never heard the phrase before – and it seemed genuine.  They stared at each other in blank confusion for a while.... and suddenly Loki's jaw dropped.  “ _That?_ Jarvis!”  Aiming a furious look at the ceiling, as if there was actually something to glare at.  “I said I wanted someone to _talk_ to!  You connected me to a whore?”

“No, sir.”  Tony could swear Jarvis was smirking.  “I connected you to a woman who would provide pleasing conversation for as long as you cared to keep her on the line.  Isn't that what you wanted?”

“Oh gods.  Oh _gods._ Phone-...?”  Loki covered his face.  “I had no idea.  I've never heard of such a thing.”

“Little mortifying there, pal?”

Loki nodded - without taking his hands away.  Then... he laughed.  “Oh gods.  Now I-...”  Finally he uncovered himself.  “I was talking to her about ordinary things, but she kept asking me to guess what she was wearing,” he admitted.  “I thought it must be some sort of riddle.”

Tony clapped.  “ _Priceless_!” 

“Oh, shut up.”  Loki sighed.  “Although, speaking of price _..._ judging by the cost of food deliveries I believe a thousand dollars is a large sum of money?” 

“It's... pretty steep for a little small talk, yeah.”  (Totally worth it though!  He could tease Loki about this for the rest of forever.)

Loki nodded.  “Thought so.  Are you going to punish me for it?”

“What?”  That derailed him.  “Oh-, no, _hell_ no,” he protested right away.  “First of all that was on Jarvis, not you, and second… it's way too funny.”

“All right.”  The shadow of an odd expression crossed Loki's face for just an instant, and then he smiled.  “Well, I apologize about your thousand dollars anyway.”

“Meh, I can afford it,” he tossed off, busy trying to read that hint of whatever-it-was around the corners of Loki's mouth.  He could swear it had looked almost like... _disappointment._

* * *

**TBC.**

**To answer people’s question: no, there’s not going to be any Tony/Loki sex or romance.  There’s the awkward intimacy of living a forced power dynamic at too-close quarters with someone who’s not getting laid, but they’ll eventually sort that out.  Without banging.**


	6. Chapter 6

**[Some time later]**

* * *

 

Thor had been visiting for days.  Thor brought out the worst in Loki, but in order to spare everyone awkwardness, they were holding off on any discipline until Thor went away.  Instead they’d kept a running tally - and once big brother was gone, it was time to pay up.

Only a handful of strokes in, though, Loki was tense and squirming.  Even hissing a little.

That was odd; the guy wasn't exactly known for fragility and Tony wasn’t hitting that hard anyway. 

“You okay?” he said at last.  Loki answered with just a jerky nod, which was not very convincing, so he reached up for a pat on the shoulder.

“ _No!_ ”  Loki jumped and twisted away.

“Okay, okay.”  Tony withdrew fast – wondering what the hell _that_ was all about.  “Sorry.  You just look, y’know, not thrilled.  I thought maybe-”

“I am _fine_ , Stark,” he snarled.

Tony poked him with the paddle.  “Sure.  And you’re _totally_ doing the smart thing, acting like a giant dick _while_ being punished for being a giant dick.  Makes perfect sense.”

“Hit me harder, then,” he challenged.  “Make me sorry.”

He caught himself in time, and made himself be nice.  “I was actually just about to ask if you need a break or something,” he said, doing his best even though Loki was irritating as all hell.  “Walk it off, lose the attitude, and we'll finish up when your mood's a little better.  Okay?”

“No.”  His voice dropped and the attitude fell away.  “That’s not necessary.  Just go on.”

Right.  He put the paddle down.  “Not happening.  Stand up and talk to me.”

Nothing.

He heaved a huge sigh.  “Are you going to make me pull rank?  I said: _stand up._ ”

Loki obeyed then, shoving himself up to his feet, but kept his back turned.

Hiding his face - why?  “Hey.  Did I hurt you?”

A derisive and creepy laugh.

“Talk to me.  I'm not letting you out of here until you do.”

“Then I suppose we'll be spending the rest of our lives in this room.  Because I have no intention of giving you any more fodder for your mockery.”

“As if I couldn’t already mock you forever on what I’ve got.”   Oops.  He tried again.  “Sorry.  Look... I’ll behave.”  Loki didn't answer.  “Hey.  Plenty of people have good cause not to trust me,” he said, “But I could swear I haven't broken any promises to _you_ yet.  So throw me a bone here and pretend to believe me when I say: I promise, no mockery.”

“I don't-.... Fine.”  A long whooshing breath.  “The answer is no, Stark: you didn't hurt me.  The problem is rather the opposite.”

Tony blanked... until the god reached down to adjust his boxers.  “Oh – shit."  With a superhuman effort he managed not to laugh.  “Somebody just pitch a tent?”

Loki brought a hand to his head as if to ward off headache.  “I'm not familiar with your ridiculous Midgard terminology, but I believe the answer is yes.  Now _not a word;_ I hold you to your promise.”

 _No mockery._ One short chuckle was all that escaped him.  “Wow.  Okay, well, uh... yeah.  Listen, if I'd known spanking floats your boat I wouldn't have suggested it as a method of punishment in the first place.  Seems kind of counterproductive.”

Loki spun to face him (and he had to peek and: yep.  That was wood all right.).  “I don't _enjoy_ being beaten,” he said, testy.

“Really?  Then why, uh...”

“Probably because I haven't been touched in months now.” Short and matter-of-fact, but there was still something a little nasty simmering under the surface.  “Perhaps if you struck me with force, and omitted the _petting_ , this wouldn't happen.”

He was making no effort to cover up.  Tony cleared his throat and tried to stop looking.  “You, uh, wanna get dressed or something?”

“Why?  While it’s obviously humiliating to become aroused under such inappropriate circumstances, on that score the damage is done.  I’m not at all embarrassed to be stared at.”

Nor should he be, really.  Tony finally tore his eyes away.  “Okay, your call.  Table this til another time?”

“No.  Finish now – but actually _hurt_ me, so that the problem doesn't get worse.”

The _problem._   He had never seen somebody glower like that over an erection in all his life, but he managed to be a grownup and not giggle.

* * *

Stark shifted behind him.  “Okay.  Ten left, I think.  You ready?”

“Yes.  Go.  From the elbow, not the wrist.”   There was a short silence, and it occurred to him that perhaps he ought not bark orders...

But Stark only huffed in pretend annoyance.  “Look, I _know_ how to be a dick with a paddle if I want to.  I've hazed plenty of fraternity brothers in my time.”

“Fraternity brothers?”

“You probably don't have those where you're from.  Here goes.”

It was a respectable blow, powerful enough to have pitched him forward if he hadn't already been lying braced against the couch.   For a blessed second all he felt was the shock of it, drowning out his embarrassing arousal, and then came the pain which was just as effective.  He lay still and focused on the sensation, the intense heat of it.

Stark waited a while after striking, as was his usual practice.  The pause was surely intended as a kindness, but as the awful burning faded to a pleasant warmth Loki knew that his erection wasn't going to go away without sterner measures.  He pushed himself up on his arms and gave a withering look over his shoulder.  “You have nine tries left, Stark.  If the problem still exists by the end I'm going to have a lot to say to you and very little of it will be flattering.  What's the point of using that exercise room if you can't even– _AH!_ ”

He faced forward again, momentarily deprived of breath.  He dug his fingers into the couch and waited until he thought he could speak steadily.  “Better, I suppose.”

“Oh, I'm just warming up, princess,” Stark said, cool.  Another blow.

...And _another_ , before he had even managed to restart his breathing.  He gagged on nothing, and finally managed to suck in a whoop of air.  “That's-.”  Then he grit his teeth.  He _would not_ be reduced to involuntary babbling.

“Yup,” Stark said cheerfully.  “ _Now_ we're talking.”

“ _Ah_ -...”  The next stroke made him jerk hard, and it shot a bright bolt of pain all up and down his back.  He realized then how tense he was, all over, but before he could relax Stark was laying into him again.

Stark _was_ strong, when he wanted to be.  There were still – how many? – to go, and already Loki was on fire.

Well, good.  That was what he'd wanted.  He ungrit his teeth enough to ask: “How many was that?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Stark said carelessly.  “A couple.  Why, weren't you counting?  Maybe we should start over.  Whaddaya say?”

Did Stark expect him to beg?  Or just to be beaten harder for refusing?  A wave of hate washed over him.

Well.  He would not give anyone the satisfaction of knowing that he was in difficulty.  He opened his straddle even further and arched, presenting himself proudly.  “I will keep better count, then,” he said, flat and steady.  “Go on.  _One._ ”

* * *

Tony hated Asgardian demigods.  He really did.  Him, _he'd_ have responded to a little friendly teasing in kind, or threatened, or complained, or _something._   But this guy, no sense of humor at all, acted like his goddamn pride was actually under actual assault.

And Tony had no intention of _actually_ torturing anyone.  He brought the paddle down not half as hard as he had been, _thunk_ ing it against Loki's boxers without any bite.

Loki twisted instantly to throw a suspicious look over his shoulder.

“Hello?  Counting,” Tony reminded, deadpan.  He tapped the paddle against his own palm impatiently.

“Of course,” Loki said – sounding more puzzled and less cold.  “ _Two._ ”

Tony went on like that, until at _seven_ Loki sighed.  “The kid gloves aren't necessary, Stark.  You can hit me.”

“Uh, sure.”  Why offer that?  “Ready?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“ _Eight._ You good?  Okay, _nine._ Okay and: _ten._ ”

Afterwards, he put the paddle down and patted Loki's back.  “You okay?”

He was twitching and breathing hard, but he said _yes_ without hesitation.

“And your, uh... problem?”

“Has abated, yes.”  Loki cleared his throat.  “Though if you continue stroking me I can make no guarantees.”

* * *

He did hate to interrupt; a friendly hand on the shoulder was a pleasant counterpoint to the hot buzzing pain of the paddling and he would have liked to just lay still and savor it.

But Stark's  _other_ hand was wandering.

“Oh – shit.”  When it was pointed out to him, Stark moved it fast.  “Sorry.  Accidental groping.  You know.  That’s sort of a thing with me, it just  _happens_.  Especially in the presence of runway models.”

Loki laughed, and the hand returned.

“Yeesh - I can feel the heat coming off you.  It really is actually, literally hot.”  The touch didn’t bother him - it was cool and assessing.  Clinical.  Pressing here and there as though trying to determine whether the damage was uniform.  “Does it hurt?”

“Now?”  He considered.  There _was_  some soreness... but nevertheless he felt excellent.

Then he frowned: he had better not be becoming one of those people whose boat was floated by beatings after all.  Stark would mock him to death for it.

“Oh yes.  Horribly.”

* * *

 

**TBC.**

**Don't worry - in this story at least, he's not  :-)**

**Let me know what you think so far!**


	7. Chapter 7

**[That Weekend]**

* * *

 Tony lurched in and dumped his coat on the ground.  “HI, HONEY, I'M HOME!”  He looked around hopefully, but Loki was nowhere to be seen and certainly was not wearing an apron, wherever he was.

Whatever.  He could do his own damn cooking.

He took a step towards the kitchen and then swore – what had felt like a blister at the afterparty now felt like a shoe full of glass.  He sat (fell) on the ground and struggled with his laces.

“Let me; you'll damage it.”  Out of nowhere Loki was right beside him, crouching down, mussed and sleepy-looking.

“Ah, shit – did I wake you up?”

A smile flitted over Loki's face and it looked genuine – but sad.  Tony suddenly _knew_ that Loki was about to say something creepy again, something abouthow it was okay to treat him like shit because that's how things worked in the great big city in the sky.

“I apologize,” he slurred before he could be told not to.  “I'm so wasted I have no idea what I'm doing.  I think I just grabbed Beyonce and asked to put my tongue in her mouth.”  He hiccupped.  “She was really polite about it.”

Loki picked at the knot.  “I don't know what a beyonce is, but I'm glad she let you down gently.”  His fingers were strong and sure and he was damn fast at it.  “Here, this is done – give me the other.”

“Wiseass.”  As he watched Loki work, he couldn't help but think-...  “I really wish there was a non-awkward way for me to ask you for a foot rub,” he said.

 _Fuck oh fuck!_   He'd said that aloud.  How drunk _was_ he!?

Loki had frozen. 

“...But I know there's _not_ ,” he went on, quickly, “So don't worry, I won't.  Promise.  My judgment in that area is really not so good, that’s all.  I traded a car for a foot rub once.  Did you know that?”

Finally Loki started moving again.  “You know you could demand it of me,” he said.  Didn't sound sleepy or indulgent or amused anymore.  Now, he was... intense.  And wary.

“Uh-uh.”  Tony shook his head, and the world tilted.  “Not that this ship hasn’t totally already sailed, but: I hate feeling like a creeper.”

Loki sat back and sighed into the distance.  “Get up.”

* * *

The man mumbled protests as he was hauled to his feet, but was too uncoordinated to put up any real resistance as he was dumped unceremoniously down on the couch and positioned so that one leg dangled over the edge.

When he took Stark's foot in his hands and started applying pressure, Stark went absolutely boneless and groaned “ _Oh, god._ ”  A moment later _dear God._   Then _yes, oh god yes._

This was better than he’d dared hope: he’d hardly started, and already Stark was limp and shuddering and moaning like a whore.  Once he sobered up and realized how he’d behaved, he would no longer be in any position to mock Loki for that hideously humiliating _thing_ that had happened during the beating the other day.

He chuckled and grabbed a pillow to sit on; he would be here a while.  Fortunately he wasn’t minding it in the way he’d expected.  As much as he might have grown to like Stark, and as much as he needed embarrassing leverage to hold over him, he’d thought it would require great self-discipline to kneel down and attend to a mortal’s feet.

But it turned out that it did not.  Reducing the Iron Man to a mumbling lump of jelly was entertaining, and Stark was absurdly generous with his praise, groaning that Loki was _fantastic_ and a _champion_ and a _fucking rock star_.

“Other side?” Loki asked after a while.

“Yeah.  God it’s so good.  Okay.”  Stark stirred a little to help reposition himself, and then went limp again.  “God.  I think I love you.”

He laughed.  “If you’ll say _that_ to _me,_ what must you have said to your poor Beyonce?”

* * *

The first thing Tony was aware of when he woke up was an intense desire to be back asleep or, failing that, dead.  He moaned and tried to reach for pillows to cover his face with... but he wasn't in his bed.  There was just a couch pillow under his head.

“Are you hungry?”  Loki – nearby, but blessedly quiet.

His stomach clenched up in warning.  “No thanks.  Bad shape.”  He obviously wasn’t getting up from here any time soon, so he stirred underneath his comforter-… comforter?  He cracked an eye.  “Did you _tuck me in_?”

“Do you imagine you had the wherewithal to do it yourself?”

That might be the first genuine snappy retort Loki had shot in his direction since coming here.  Too bad he didn't currently have the _wherewithal_ to sit up and congratulate him.  “Fair enough.”  

“Here,” Loki said, even closer.  “Move your arm.”

With great effort, Tony shifted the arm from off his eyes.  Before the daylight could make him scream, though, he was surrounded in beautiful darkness.  Cool, sweet darkness.

“Damp cloth.  You should lie still for a few more hours.  If human hangovers are anything like ours.”

“Thanks.”

The next time he woke up, he felt able to take the dishtowel off his head and carefully – _carefully_ – sit up. 

Loki was reading.  “Afternoon, Stark.  Feeling better?”

“Slightly.  Yeah.”  Now that he had his head together, though, there were some things from last night that...  “Hey.  I hesitate to ask this, because I can’t believe I’d be this big a creep, but: did I make you give me a foot rub?”

“I volunteered,” Loki said without looking up.

“Um... no.  _Volunteered_ is kinda not a thing, when...”

“I volunteered freely.” 

“Uh...”

Finally he raised his head.  “I had the impression you wanted me to exercise free will when possible.  Was I mistaken?”

“No – definitely no – but I mean...”

“Then are you telling me I'm not permitted to decide for myself whether to bestow massages or not?”

“No!  It's just...”

“Then I fail to see the problem.”  Stiff and curt.  Then he went back to his reading.

Tony got that he had been Dismissed.  It wasn't hard to see why Loki didn't have a lot of friends in Asgard; if he did haughty this well as a _slave_ God knows how completely fucking insufferable he had been when he was actually in charge of everyone.  He didn't call him on it, though – beyond muttering “Yes _sir_ , Your Highness, sir.”  He would have bowed too – if it wouldn't have meant puking all over the rug.  He got to his feet carefully.  “I'm going to go take a shower.  If I'm not back in an hour, assume I drowned and come rescue me.”

 

* * *

It took Stark most of the day to recover.  The sunlight through the big windows had turned orange by the time he emerged clean and dressed from his chambers.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Do you want to try eating?”

“In a minute.  First, we have to take care of something.”  He went to the cabinet where the paddle was kept, and Loki heaved a sigh.  He supposed it had been too much to hope that Stark had forgiven his earlier rudeness.  “I struggled with this,” Stark announced, “Because like you said, I don't want to act like you can't make your own choices.  But still.”

Something didn't add up.  Loki retraced their earlier conversation... ah.  He set his book down and stood up.  “I told you, I volunteered.”

Stark shook his head.  “My memory's spotty but the holes aren't _that_ big.  Who suggested a foot rub in the first place?”

The tone said he knew the answer already, so Loki didn't lie.  “You _mentioned_ it,” he admitted.  “But you certainly didn't order me to do it.  In fact you said clearly that I didn't have to.”

Another head-shake.  “I got drunk, and did something sketchy that I regret,” he said firmly.  “I'm glad to hear I didn't behave like a total overbearing douchenozzle to you-”

“-A _what_?”

“-But it's still not okay.  Pressuring is not cool given our particular, you know, situation.”  He held the paddle out.

A long silence.  “Stark, you really don't have to.”

Stark shrugged.  “This is not the first time that Sober Tony has had to pay the price for Drunk Tony's misdeeds.  Come on – I'll feel less bad once you do it.”

Loki knew from experience that that was probably true.  ( _Definitely_ true, if he wielded the paddle as kindly as his master did.  Though where was the fun in that?). 

* * *

Tony bent over the arm of the sofa without a fuss, but he was a little – a _little_ – a teeeeny bit disappointed that Loki didn't protest more than he did.  It made him wonder whether he really had been a horrible creep and Loki was more upset than he let on.

“Pants, Stark.”

He jumped.  “Oh– sorry-”

But before he could stand up, there were hands on his waist.  “It's all right – I'll do it.”  Hands slid around his belt, found the buckle, opened it effortlessly.  Fingers walked around his fly, feeling it out, finding the button and the zipper. 

Their hips bumped together once or twice while Loki was working, and Tony had never had a guy stand behind him and open his pants up before and it-... did something.  Crossed some wires maybe.  He wormed his hands in between the couch cushions so that Loki wouldn't see his fists clenching.

Then Loki crouched down behind him and tugged his jeans down.  “Fair's fair, after all.”  Patted him on the bare thigh.  

“Right.”  Tony crushed himself as hard against the couch arm as he could.  “Go for it.”  _And hit me hard.  So I don't have to worry about-..._

- _that._   Loki laid a hand on his lower back – somehow his shirt had ridden up so it was skin on skin – and the crossed wires crackled with sudden electricity.  _Fuck._

“Brace up.”

“Yup. Bracing,” he said tightly.  _For God's sake hit me.  Fucking hit me hard._

“This is _one_.”

Maybe Loki had read his mind, because that first one hurt.  A _lot_.  Tony yelped and babbled and clutched at the couch.

Loki rubbed his back – laughing at him.  “Stark, we _need_ to work on your composure.”

 _You don’t know the half of it._   “I'll _composure_ your face, you little jerk,” he said instead.  “Hold on – hold on, okay?  Don't hit my hands.”

“Mm.”

He reached behind himself to squeeze until the stinging faded.  “ _Jesus._   Okay,” he said finally, and got back in position.  Ready to withstand.  “I'm aright.  You're up, Bambi.”

Loki gave an exasperated little hiss.  “Of course you're _all right_.  I was only joking – I know your composure is fine when you need it to be.”  Tony chuckled.  _Tell that to my panic attacks._ “However,” Loki went on, “You have been unfailingly kind to me with this thing,” (rubbing the paddle against Tony's ass), “And I have no intention of repaying you with suffering.  So: if I am miscalculating and this is actually hard on you, _tell me_ and I will gentle _._ I have little experience with the pain tolerance of mortals.”

He really was all right.  Especially since the rubbing had taken care of the rest of the burn, leaving him weirdly keyed-up and almost eager.  (Damn Loki.  Tony Stark was _not_ a guy who got off on being spanked.).  “No, you're okay,” he said.  “Stings like a bitch but it's fine.  Go ahead – I'm ready.”

“All right.  This is _two_.”

“Yeesh.”  He jerked and tensed and breathed hard.  “You really don't fuck around, do you.”

* * *

Loki laughed softly.  He was doing nothing _but_ fucking around, and it was fantastic entertainment that Stark seemed to have no idea of it.  “You're the one who insisted on being punished,” he purred.  He rubbed with the paddle again, and watched Stark's hips roll.  “And now look at you squirm.  Poor thing.  Very well: I'll be merciful.”

“I didn't say I needed _mercy_ -” 

“Hush.”  Loki prodded him.  “We'll just dispense with the real blows; you can have those tiny little wrist-taps you're so fond of.  This is _three_.”

As he'd expected, gentleness made Stark even tenser than pain had.  He couldn't resist doing more: a friendly little double-pat with his hand, which made the mortal gasp aloud.  “You're doing well, Stark.  Two more.  Say when.”

“When,” Stark said instantly.  Clearly desperate to get it over with and escape.

Small chance of that!  “Four, and five.”  After the blows, Loki tossed the paddle down quickly and cupped Stark's buttocks with both hands.  “Damn, that _is_ warm,” he laughed.  “Though I believe my usual body temperature is a bit lower than a human's, so perhaps that explains it.”

“Um.”  Stark's voice was hoarse and fogged.  “Wow, yeah.”

“Mm.”  Loki withdrew – too much and Stark would know that the torment was intentional.  “All right, now let's hear you apologize.”

“Okay.”  He took a breath, a moment to gather his wits.  “I'm sorry I made you do stuff that's way too personal,” he said at last.  “I know that forcing that kind of thing on you is fucked-up and totally not kosher and I won't do it aga– _AH!_ ”

Loki released his savage pinch.  “That was a gross mischaracterization,” he warned, “And I still have the paddle.  Try again.”

Stark sighed.  “Help me out here, Bambi.”

He didn't need Stark to feel guilty - only uncomfortable.  “Your behavior wasn’t nearly as terrible as you’re making out.  Try: _I'm sorry for being less sensitive than usual to our situation,_ ” he proposed.

Stark echoed it, and then was allowed to rise.  He might not have quite _pitched a tent,_ as mortals might say, but he was blushing crimson and unable to hold eye contact.

Loki kept his smile bland – somehow.  “Forgiven.”  There: that should be the end of any teasing; Stark was in a very glass house now. 

* * *

**TBC.**

**I’d meant to get this up yesterday; sorry for the delay.  I’m trying to be good about regular posting with this fic.**

**And I appreciate people’s comments, glad you’re having fun!**


	8. Chapter 8

**[Some time has passed.]**

* * *

 

Loki made his apology from the couch: “I'm sorry I destroyed your microwave.  From now on, if I want to reenact any youtube videos that look dangerous, I will ask.”  Then he rose, rubbing his rear.  “Are you actually annoyed?”

Tony huffed.  “Clearly there's something wrong with our punishment system if you have to _ask_.”

“Don't deflect.”  Brisk, almost commanding - a far cry from the pathetic uncertainty of a few months ago.  “Stark.  Answer me: are you truly put out?”

“Eh, whatever.”  Tony shrugged.  “It's just a pain in the ass is all, because everything’s custom.  I'll have to get a new one, guys'll have to come in and install it, they'll probably screw up my counters.  You know.”

“Damn.”  Now he looked actually contrite.  “I assumed it was easily replaceable, like the clothes-dryer.”

“Which I _also_ spanked you for,” Tony said, perfectly aware that he was deflecting now, but what else was he going to do.  He didn’t need his prisoner to get all guilt-ridden about a stupid microwave.  As if it was his fault he was cooped up all day with nothing to do!   “Doesn't seem you learned your lesson.”

“Honestly.  I'm sorry – sorrier than those little pats you just gave me.”  Loki turned and picked the paddle up from the couch.  Held it out.  “Here.”

That lunatic from Stuttgart, that creep in the Hellicarrier, demanding a chance to show that he really was _sorry_.  Wow.  But he somehow managed to keep any comments to himself.  “Nah, I've made my point.  I'm aware that the paddle doesn't _actually_ dissuade you, you know.”  This was true even though he now made sure to always hit hard enough to sting, to prevent any awkward situations like people getting boners they didn’t mean.

“Mm.”  Loki was turning it thoughtfully in his hands.  “You could use the studded side?”

“Think that’d hurt?”

“I don't know.  Try it.”

For whatever reason Loki still wasn't big on apologies freely given and accepted – in his world, apparently, you could only have forgiveness if you really paid for it.

Far be it from Tony to deprive the guy of a little forgiveness.  “Okay.  Back down.”

Loki got in position again, got comfortable.  “Go ahead.  From the elbow, or what's the point.”

Tony nudged him with the paddle's edge.  “I don't tell _you_ what to do when it's your turn.”  He used some force, because Loki was right, but other than a couple of jerks and hisses Loki seemed pretty relaxed for the whole thing.  Afterwards he wanted to say _Do you feel better?_ , but that would likely ruffle the god's feathers, so he asked instead: “How was it with the studs?”

“More intense than the usual way, I suppose, but it was fine.”  Loki quirked a smile.  “I suppose I just misbehave so often that I've become immune to paddling.”

It would be shame to lose their number one teambuilding exercise.  “Well, _that_ needs to be corrected, stat,” he said.  “Wanna go shopping?”

* * *

They walked part of the way, and took a subway for the rest.  Loki had by now gotten used to the subway - he'd had to; they went on excursions at least once a week - but still he hated the closed-in underground feeling, the mortals surrounding and pressing up against him.  It didn’t help any that Stark was standing near him and talking incessantly, yammering on about some experiment Loki wasn’t a part of and didn’t care about. 

He was very glad when they gained the street again.  “It’s that way, isn’t it?” he said, trying to orient himself with his phone.

“Atta boy.  Make Daddy proud.”  Stark clapped him on the shoulder.

He snorted at Stark calling himself _Daddy._ Which reminded him:  “In the shop shall I call myself _your slave_ again?”  It was something for the two of them to laugh about – he steadily refused all knowledge that _it was true._

Stark quirked eyebrows.  “Don't knock it.  You're in good company; some of the best shit in New York is property of Tony Stark.”  He grinned.  “D'you want a tattoo?  Right on your butt cheek.  _Property of Tony Stark._ ”

“Thanks, but I think I'll pass.  It would clash with my tramp stamp.” 

Stark laughed, but before he could answer a young man tugged on his sleeve.  “Tony Stark?  Oh wow.”

Stark rolled his eyes in Loki’s direction, before presenting the boy with his Friendly Face.  “Yep.  In the flesh.  You want a picture or something?”

“Yeah – uh, do you mind?” 

Loki saw that two young females at the crosswalk had noticed as well.  At this rate there would soon be a crowd.  _He_ was wearing dark glasses and had cut his hair to a more “normal” length at Stark’s insistence, but it was still conceivable that someone could recognize him.

“Stark,” he murmured – quietly; for all he knew his voice could make things worse.  “I’ll go on ahead.”

Stark nodded.  “You know what?” he said easily; they were being overheard.  “You run your errand by yourself, and I’ll meet you back at the tower, okay?”  He made eye contact, gave a short head-shake _no,_ and mouthed: _Pictures._

Of course.  If he were accidentally caught in a photograph...   He nodded, turned quickly away from the enthusiastic young mob, and hurried down the block.

Alone, unsupervised... free. 

* * *

Tony regretted letting him go the second the words were out of his mouth, but what exactly were his options?  He couldn’t be seen all chummy with _Loki._   And he couldn’t be seen walking into a kinky sex shop period – let alone with Loki!  Not that he would be shy about if it he _was_ a sexual deviant, but he wasn’t, and it really wasn’t the kind of press he felt like fielding.  Plus Pepper would kill him.

He finished up snapping pictures with the kids, listened to them geek out for a few minutes, and then once he’d got rid of them he considered chasing after Loki right away.

It would be too late, though.  If the bastard had decided to run, he’d be long gone.  There was nothing for Tony to do but go back to the tower and just... hope.  Just trust that Loki had done the right thing.   The right thing, the smart thing, the _only_ thing if Thor’s warnings were to be believed.

“Don’t be an idiot, Bambi,” he muttered to himself.  But there was really nothing else for him to do, so he hailed a cab back to the tower to wait.

Didn't have to wait long.   He'd barely gotten his shoes off and poured a drink when Jarvis informed him that Loki was waiting down in the lobby.  “Great.  Send him up.”  Then that seemed strange.  “Why didn't you just take the elevator?” he said as soon as Loki entered the room.  “Did the lobby people give you grief or something?”

“What?  No, I asked them to call up to you.  The last time I entered your home uninvited you set the Hulk on me.”  A quick lip-twitch said it was a joke, but still.

“Your home too,” Tony said.  “Hate to break it to you, Rudolph, but you’re here for the long haul.”

“Yes _thank you_ for the reminder,” he snapped, but then took a deep breath.  Waved what might be an apology.  “I know,” he said more calmly.  “But being confined to your tower doesn’t confer ownership rights.”

Maybe not, but Tony felt weirdly bothered by the idea that he didn’t even feel entitled to cross the threshold without permission.  “Your home too,” he repeated.  Flat and stubborn.

“All right.”  He didn’t quite seem to know what to do with the information.  “Um, thanks.”

He watched Loki fidget... which made him notice that Loki’s hands were empty.  “Hey – no luck shopping?”

“Hm?  Oh.  Well I wasn’t about to march down the streets carrying it.”  He bent and _then_ Tony noticed the slim black handle sticking out of his boot.  Loki drew it and handed it over.  “Here you are.  Cane.”

“Cane,” he repeated stupidly.

“Fiberglass.  I was always beaten with rods and switches of wood,” Loki explained, “But today I was told that this material is to be preferred because it’s easier to clean of fluids.”

“Fluids,” he repeated, even more stupidly.

“Blood.  Or semen, says the shopkeep,” Loki added, “Though I don’t imagine we’ll have that particular concern.”

Tony blinked.  _Blood._   Tossed off so casually, as if it wouldn't matter.  “But you _do_ expect...?”

“Hm?  Oh, no – certainly not if you exercise some degree of restraint.  If you strike hard enough, though, blood is theoretically a possibility.”

“Damn.”  Tony whipped the thing through the air a few times, and the _whss_ ing sound kind of gave him goosebumps.  “Uh... ow?” he guessed.

Loki laughed and gestured for the thing; Tony handed it over.  “I'll show you.” 

“Okay, but be gentle, baby.”   A whiny falsetto; of _course_ he was kidding.  Not actually nervous or anything, not at all.  “It's my first time.”  

* * *

Loki could still remember the smothering dread of going out to the gardens to cut his own switch.  (That was early childhood, before his magic had made beatings ineffective.).  Today, though, picking out an instrument in the shop had given him just a nervous little flutter in his stomach, and though his cheeks had warmed a few times with the thought of what he meant to allow, he felt none of the hot humiliation of those long-ago punishments. 

He did feel shy, though.  Stark was looking at him expectantly and he was suddenly aware that he had no idea what he was doing.  “I’ve never actually wielded one of these things,” he admitted.  “I was always on the wrong end – and it was centuries ago.”

Stark didn’t seem troubled.  “Learning experience for everybody, then.  Jarvis?  Look over a couple of ass-caning instructionals, and let us know if we're screwing anything up.”  He set up a pillow.  “Go on.”

Loki stepped up into position.  “All right.  Hold the cane in your dominant hand-”  (Had to wait out Stark's juvenile amusement at the use of _dominant_ ), “And put your other here, to help steady yourself.”

“Excuse me.”  Jarvis interrupted calmly.  “Literature advises that for beginners especially, the primary purpose of that hand is to protect the submissive's tailbone.”

Loki blinked.  Nobody had ever told _him_ that, though he supposed it made sense.  Odin would have been furious if routine chastisement actually gave one of the princes a real injury.  “Right,” he said after a moment.  “For the tailbone, then.  Regardless, you strike beneath where your hand is, and if you're unsure of your aim it's better to err low than high – the thighs can take it much better than your fingers.”

“With you so far.”  Stark's arms were crossed.

“A couple of taps like this,” Loki said, demonstrating, “To aim and to indicate where you plan to land the blow.  If you're feeling cruel, omit them.  Cane strokes are considerably worse when they come as a surprise.”

Jarvis spoke up again.  “If I may, sir?”

Loki tried not to resent being corrected by a machine – again.  “Yes?”

“In addition to helping the dominant establish his target, those taps are generally known as 'warm-up' and supposed to help the subm-”

“Thank you,” Loki interrupted, testy, “We know what _warm-up_ means.”   Stark was giving him eyebrows, so he felt compelled to explain his irritation.  “Please stop calling our victim the _submissive._   It's not... like that.”

“My apologies, sir.  There is other terminology available; would you prefer _top_ and _bottom_?”

He exchanged glances with Stark.  “Fine,” Stark said at last, “Until we think of something better.”

“Fine.”  Loki drew his arm back and delivered a real stroke.  “Like this – and be sure you're hitting both buttocks evenly, especially if you're using a lot of force.  The far side will welt up miserably otherwise.”

He handed the cane over, and Stark whipped it through the air enthusiastically.  Struck the pillow a few times.  Then: “Looks good, right?  So how about a test run.”

He'd expected as much.  He undressed and arranged himself without protest.

“Look, I may not know what I'm doing – yet – but don't worry,” Stark began.

“Yes yes I know,” he anticipated.  “You favor methodical experimentation; you won't attack in wild frenzy.  I'm not concerned.”

Stark was quiet a moment.  Then he cuffed Loki in the back of the head.  “How about: _I know you're not an ass and I trust you not to hurt me_.”

Loki's turn to be quiet, as he considered.  Much as he _hated_ the T-word, in this case his absolute confidence that he wouldn’t be harmed made it unfair to withhold it.  Fine.  “I trust you not to hurt me,” he repeated, down to the cushions.  “Though to be fair you've often admitted that you _are_ an ass.”

He jumped as a hand settled over his tailbone.  Light tapping started.  “You're gonna pay for that, Bambi,” Stark laughed.

He _still_ wasn't concerned.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Let me know what you think.  I appreciate the people who have commented so far; you guys are the best!!**


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

**[Some weekends later.]**

* * *

Loki had behaved perfectly through daytime outings, a few dinners, a show.  He could handle crowded subways without flinching.  Even Times Square.  So eventually, on a whim, Tony proposed clubbing.  It sounded like something they didn’t have in Asgard, and he kind of loved the idea of a tipsy supervillain on a dance floor. 

It went well.  They got in with fake ID’s (Loki had had no ID at all, and Tony wasn’t about to let it be known that he sometimes partied incognito in the meatpacking district), got drunk, and met women even drunker than they were.  Loki disappeared with one after a while.  Tony followed them to the dark corridor outside the bathrooms and saw what they were up to, and then when the going got good he decided it was probably politer to go wait by the bar.

In the cab on the way home, Loki slumped against him bonelessly and yawned.  It was cute, really.  “You got hammered, pal.”

“What?”  Loki jolted partway up, and looked down at himself.  “I did?  What happened?”  He looked around.  “Where’s Thor?”

Tony took a second.  Then laughed aloud.  “Not like that.  I just mean drunk. Really drunk.”

“Oh.  Mm.”  Loki settled back down.  “Not that drunk.  Just exhausted.”

“You want a nap and a sandwich?”  Loki was squishing his arm, so Tony shifted to put it across the back of the seat instead.  “That’s what happens with human males after they get laid.  It’s normal.”

“Mm.  I like it.  Feels nice.”  Loki... snuggled.  There was no other word for it.  Hopefully he would be too drunk to remember this in the morning; he’d be mortified.  “I think this is the best I’ve felt in years.”  A pause.  “Which I suppose is absurd considering... the situation.”

Their preferred euphemism.  “Yeah, well, I’m doing my best to give _the situation_   some upside,” Tony said.   Kept it light.  “Like tonight.  Most people would consider partying with Tony Stark to be a great honor.”

“Stark.”  Now he was really slurring.  “You have been fantastic.  You know that, don’t you?  You’ve treated me not just _better than I expected,_ but qualitatively differently from anything in the whole range of possibilities I’d imagined.”

“Well I think that says more about the shittiness of your expectations than-”

“Shut up and take a damn compliment,” he interrupted roughly.  Then muttered: “You give _yourself_ enough of them.”

“Hey!”

He laughed, dazed and woozy.  “All I’m saying is, you’re a better man than anybody thought.  Your enemy is entirely in your power, and he’s found himself to be safe there.”

_Safe._ It was sort of heartbreaking, that safety was more than the guy had expected or dared hope for... but he kept it light.  “Well, princess, the fun is just beginning,” he said.  “Now that I know you like clubbing I have about a hundred places I need to take you out to.”

“Mm.  If I drink like this at all of them, the tabs will bankrupt you.”

Tony laughed and gave him a squeeze.  “It's not possible to drink away my fortune - I’ve tried.  But hey who knows, maybe I'll make you get a job.”  Though even the most rudimentary background check would pose a problem.  Hm.  “Flipping burgers or something.”

“Burgers,” Loki repeated thickly.  “No - burgers are food.  You've banned me from cooking.”  He snorted.  Probably remembering the Sprinkler Incident. 

“Aright, wise guy.  Pipe down.”

Loki was quiet for a few blocks.  Then: “Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“If you mock me about any of this I’ll kill you in your sleep.” 

* * *

Loki awoke to a terrible feeling of foreboding.  Worse – a dread, an oppressive certainty that he had done something  _wrong,_ that he had made a terrible mistake of some kind that would be impossible to rectify, and everything would come crashing down.

It was more than just the hangover – though that definitely represented a mistake too.  He thought back to try and explain away the pit in his stomach, and almost immediately he remembered.

_“Say my name,” he’d ordered the girl.  Gripping her jaw, staring into her eyes.  Brushing her greedy sex with his, but not entering her – not just yet.  Not til she’d given him what he suddenly craved more than all the sex in the world._

_“What?”  Even in the flashing colored lights he could see that her pupils were blown, and her forehead creased with confusion.  “Um.”  She bit her lip, smiling.  “Sorry.  I’m really sorry.  But um-... what is it again?”_

_When they’d first exchanged names he’d given her the alias, as instructed.  But this time Stark was nowhere in the vicinity and he couldn’t resist.  “Loki,” he said.  “My name is Loki.  Say it.”_

_“Loki,” she repeated, stroking his face.  “I- OH!”  He’d split her suddenly, driving deep.  Her mouth was wide open.  “Oh- oh god.”  After so many centuries’ worth of women, even drunk and out of practice he could find the right angle without difficulty. He shifted and thrust again, even harder, squarely hitting her secret spots.  “Oh god,” she gasped again, pain and pleasure both.  “Loki.”  Into his eyes.  That was what he needed, all he needed.  He’d fucked her like the world was ending._

He’d given the girl his _name._ Stark was going to kill him.

No... what Stark was going to do was forbid him from interacting with mortals for the foreseeable future.  A year ago the idea wouldn’t have troubled him at all, but now it was a prospect too terrible to face.  To be locked up again, isolated, after the little freedoms he’d been enjoying lately was unacceptable.  He’d kill himself first.

_You don’t have to kill yourself,_ he told himself firmly.  _You just have to keep Stark from finding out._   Which shouldn’t be hard, really.  He was confident the girl had forgotten his name ten seconds after he’d said it; she'd hardly seemed to remember her own.  He knew there was no real danger he’d been found out... but he also knew that it was pure luck.  A more observant partner, a bystander, a camera... there were a thousand ways that the scene could have gone wrong, and it was pure dumb luck that none of them had come to pass.

But Stark was a meticulous planner who didn’t believe in relying on dumb luck.  He would never let Loki get into such a position again.

...If he found out about it.  Which he would not.  Loki had been keeping secrets all his life; keeping this one instant of stupidity from one hung-over mortal was surely not beyond his skills.

* * *

There was something different about Loki – and it wasn’t just the hangover.  He was on edge, nervous, squirrely.  When Tony tried to explain the concept of safe sex to him and teach him how to operate a condom, instead of cracking wise he only muttered apologies with his eyes on the floor.  He hadn’t been this way in a long time, and Tony didn’t like it.

_Tackle it head on._   It had been his mantra in dealing with Loki; it _had_ to be ever since he’d learned all the horrifying things Loki was worrying about without telling him.  Untested assumptions were bad for both of them.  So, once dinnertime had passed and both of them had managed to keep down a little Chinese food, he said: “Anything you want to tell me?”

“What?”  Deer in the headlights... for just a second.  He recovered quickly.  “No, it’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?”

Loki hesitated... then sighed and spilled.  “It’s about last night.”

“Go on...”

“I think you should punish me for what I said in the car.  I threatened to kill you.  I _know,_ ” he said, holding a hand up over Tony’s protest, “You know I was only joking.  But that doesn’t matter – if ever something like that were overheard by an Asgardian, my life would be forfeit.  I can’t get in the habit of being so careless.  The _situation_ is very real, much as we may pretend otherwise.”

That was fucked up, maybe, but true.  “Fine – fair enough.  From now on I won’t let-”

“No, not _from now on.”_   Loki was already on his way to the cabinet.  “We have rules.  How can I trust you if you don’t keep to them?”

It was the paddle he took out, not the cane, so Tony didn’t fight him – he just delivered swats that weren’t even remotely unpleasant and then ruffled his hair afterwards.  “No more death threats, Bambi,” he ordered.

“No more death threats.” 

* * *

**TBC.**

**I'm surprised it's taken Tony this long to realize that partying with a supervillain would be kind of hilarious.**

**Also... Loki is sneaky.**

 


	10. Chapter 10

**[Couple of weekend later.]**  

* * *

 

Stark really did go on to bring him to an impressive variety of clubs.  Some were beautiful and expensive establishments, and others were foul and cheap - but wonderful in their own way, because they were full of drunken women who craved touch almost as much as he did.  Once, they stayed out the entire night, til long after the ordinary clubs were closed, and then piled into a dirty afterparty venue with some strange ragtag bunch of humans wearing their weight in makeup and sparkles.

Loki was in the bathroom after sunrise, and found a man trying to scrub vomit and glitter off his face so that he could put on a business suit and go to work.  Moved by admiration of the creature’s determination (and pity, really), he helped.

The man slurred out effusive thanks and kissed him.  Stark walked in on them a few minutes later, _just_ as they'd finally found a comfortable position for fucking.  The man was standing with one foot up on the toilet and his hands braced against the wall; Loki was pressed to him tightly, trying to keep from touching the filthy walls or the filthy sink behind him.  Stark laughed...

... And then darted forward with an expression of horror.  “Whoa – bareback?  Nuh-uh!”

“What?  Let go!”  Loki tried to protest as he was dragged off his partner and shoved into a wall.  He set his clothes to rights, since clearly fucking was out of the question for the time being, and listened while Stark berated the poor businessman.  “What the fuck!   Seriously, man, a rando in a bar?  Is this how you roll?  Is there _any_ chance at all you’re clean?”

Was he blind?  Loki felt he had to step in.  “Let him alone, St- Tony.”  (He wasn’t allowed to say “Stark” in clubs).  “We already got the vomit off, and we’ll clean him up the rest of the way after we’re-”

“ _Diseases!_ ” Stark yelled over him.  “I’m talking about _diseases_ , you idiot alien fuck!”

Oh.  Now that he thought about it, Stark _had_ reprimanded him once already for failing to use the little penis-protectors he carried in his wallet.  He had hardly paid attention to the lecture, though; that day he’d been too busy worrying about having told some drunk woman his true name. 

The businessman insisted that he _never_ fucked bareback in public bathrooms, which Loki personally knew to be a lie, and insisted that he didn’t have any diseases.  Stark threw him out with a lot of foul language and then dragged Loki out into the dawn, ignoring his pleas about being hammered and blue-balled and really in no shape to face the day.

* * *

Tony waited a day to allow for sobering up, and then marched into the living room all ready to lay down the law.  “Bambi.  We need to talk.  About sex.”

Loki put his book down and waited.

“Specifically, unsafe sex.  I know you’ve heard it all already, okay, except this weekend I found you doing it _again_ – even worse than last time.  Unsafe sex in a sketchy gay bar is pretty much the unsafest sex there is.”

“I know.  You’ve explained it.  I won’t do it again.”

“You said that last time.  Apparently promises all go out the window when Little Bambi is doing the thinking.”

Loki swallowed.  “You’re saying you don’t want me fornicating with mortals anymore.”

“What?  No!  No no no.  I am not trying to cramp your style.”  Heaven forbid.  “It’s just really important that you don’t catch a disease or knock a girl up in a club bathroom or something, okay.  _It’s really important that you wear a rubber._   And I don’t think you get it.”

“I do get it.” Wary as hell.

“Yeah – intellectually, maybe.  But you don’t _get_ it.  In here.”  Tony tapped himself on the arc reactor.  “The idea of going raw needs to be an instant instinctive _no_ for you.  My first thought was I'd achieve that by showing you one of those sex-ed slide shows with all the gonorrhea pictures, but that voiceover still haunts my nightmares and I don't think I could sit through another hearing of the phrase _thick cheesy discharge_ without throwing up." 

“What?”  Loki blinked rapidly.

“Never mind.  Bottom line is, I'm thinking I’ll try and do it with the cane instead.   I can probably make a pretty bad impression if I put my mind to it, right?”

Loki’s frown deepened.  He was quiet a minute.  Then: “I don’t understand.  All this,” he gestured around vaguely, “Because you want to beat me?”

For once he didn’t correct the terminology.  “Yeah – but I don’t mean like our usual.  I mean actual pain and bruises.”  _You know, the kind of thing you were afraid of when you first came here.  The kind of thing I promised I’d never do._

The crease in Loki’s brow smoothed out.  “I see.  All this because you want to beat me.”  He gave one of those sharp not-smiles of his.  “You know you don’t need my consent for that.”  Before Tony could jump in he held up his hands and added: “But to the extent you’re asking: of course you have it.”

* * *

Relieved that a punishment would be the end of the matter – that the women, let alone the excursions more generally, weren’t in jeopardy – Loki got into position without any complaining.

“Undies too, this time,” Stark said, plucking at his boxers.  “I need to see what I’m doing.  And you get the paddle for warm-up, because otherwise I’ll feel too bad to even go through with it.”

Loki laughed; he’d surely feel differently once the pain started but for now he was only curious.  “After all this build-up, you’d best not disappoint me.”

The blows began, dull and steady.  “I guarantee that of whatever you’re feeling half an hour from now, _disappointment_ will be the least of your problems.”

Stark sounded serious, but whatever he meant to do couldn’t possibly hold a candle to getting bludgeoned and flayed and having his teeth smashed out.

Of course, all that had happened while he had his powers and his usual resiliency, while now...

It occurred to him suddenly that his confidence might be unwarranted.  “Stark,” he spoke up suddenly.  “I’ve never-”  But he stopped himself in time.  How _pathetic_!  “Never mind.”

Stark hesitated a moment, probably considering whether to press him, but finally just said: “Kay.  Here we go.”  He gave a brief, encouraging shoulder-rub.  (And Loki _hated_ how much he appreciated the gesture.  Damn Stark for all of this.).  A hand on his tailbone... and then a line of fire, bright and sudden, across the top of his thighs.  “We’ll be here a while.  You need a break, you say so.”  He couldn’t imagine availing himself of the opportunity to beg for a reprieve, though he supposed if it hurt enough anything was possible.  “Now repeat after me: _condom._ ”

The stroke came immediately afterwards.  Hard – harder than anything Stark had done to him up til today.  It took a moment for the pain to register.  Once it did it was awful.  “Condom,” he said, jaw tight.

“Condom.”  _Crack._

“Condom!”  This time he tried to speak _before_ the pain flooded him, but that was worse – it came out all high and strangled.

“I _always_ need to wear a condom.”

He felt himself jerk hard against the couch.  So much for holding still.  “I- always- need to wear a condom.”  He tried to catch his breath.  “Even when I’m not fucking?”

Stark swatted him by hand, lightly.  “Wiseass.”

“Sorry,” he laughed, arching into it.  Why was he lightheaded?

“You’re not breathing,” Stark answered, which made him wonder if he’d said it aloud.  “You need to breathe when you get hit.  Deep breaths – it’s supposed to help.”

He nodded – and squared up, ready now and grateful for the break.  Even more grateful that he hadn’t had to ask for it. 

“I always wrap the willy.”  _Crack._

“I- _ah_ -. I always wrap the willy.”

“Bag the monkey.”  _Crack._

The what?  “Bag the- the monkey.”

“Because only a fool doesn’t package his tool.”  _Crack._

Really?  They were reduced to rhymes like children?  “Only a-. Gods.  Only a fool doesn’t package his tool.”

“Little Loki always wears a raincoat.”  _Crack._

“Stark!”  Finally the absurdity was too much; he turned to glare over his shoulder.  Tried to breathe through the fire that engulfed him.

Stark was unrepentant.  “I know more dick-related euphemisms than anyone you’ve ever met, and you’re gonna hear every one of them.  Face front.”

He did as he was told.  Wanted to ask for a break, except this early on Stark would probably only laugh at him.

“Bambi, you need a second?”

 _I could kiss you._   He nodded.  “Thanks.  And... can we dispense with the idiotic dialog?”

“We most certainly cannot,” Stark said cheerfully.  Let him breathe a minute, and then poked him with the cane.  “Ready?  Okay.  No glove, no love.”  _Crack._

* * *

They had gone through forty or so stupid dick phrases (and he wasn't running out!) before Loki finally broke position and reached back to clutch at the scarlet-purple patches of welts.  He was digging his fingers in, squeezing – how could that possibly _help_?  “Sorry,” he gasped.  “A moment – sorry.”

“Take your time.”  He hiked Loki’s shirt up so that it wouldn't brush against the ouches, and noticed that his back was clammy with sweat.  “You okay?”

Loki nodded.  “But if you plan to go on much longer you may need to restrain me.”

If a stubborn warrior god couldn’t hold still for it, it was probably too much.  “No, we’re almost done.  Already looks pretty nasty, honestly.”  In a couple of places he could see blood.

“Compared to what?  I’ve seen bones poking through my skin on more than one occasion.”  He sucked in a long breath and let go of himself.  “All right.  I’m ready.”

“Okay.  So, to recap: when some skank – or worse, some _dude_ skank – wants you to dive in, you say:  Hold on babe, I like it safe.”  _Crack._

“Ah-hh.”  It took him a moment.  “Hold on; I like it safe.”

“So lemme get a condom.”  _Crack._

“ _Ah!_   Let me... get.  A condom.”

“...Because you probably have some skank disease and I don’t want to catch it.  Just kidding, don’t say that.  Breathe.”  He waited til Loki breathed and nodded.  “Last one,” he declared.  “ _You_ tell _me_ what you’re going to say.  Own words, Bambi.  Go for it.”

“Very well.  Let me think.”  He took a few minutes.  “All right.”  He cleared his throat.  “My sweet skank,” he began.

_Crack._

“Ah shit _shit_ ah _ow_ ,” he babbled airily.  Then: “All _right._   All right!  What I’ll do is take it out and say: _pardon me, but I don’t go into battle without armor_.”

* * *

That really pleased Stark, as he’d expected – Stark laughed as he delivered the final (brutal) stroke, then followed him down to the ground to press a big theatrical kiss to his sweaty hair.  “Fan-fricking-tastic.”

He wished he had it in him to crack another joke, but he was drowning in pain and just trying to stay afloat.

“You’re all done,” Stark said, more seriously.  “Just relax, take it easy, you’re okay.  All done.”

He flipped Stark the bird and then stayed where he was, on his knees with his forehead pressed to the carpet, clutching at the injured area with both hands.  Time passed.  He wasn’t sure how much.  Eventually Stark spoke up again.  “I don’t think the grabbing actually helps.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“Me neither, but since when does that stop me.  So.  You planning on getting up off the floor any time soon?”

“I’m considering it.”  His voice had steadied a bit, which was good.  He shuddered – freezing, suddenly.  Soaked with old cold sweat.

“If you’re not up for walking, I can get a suit to come carry you around.”

Was he serious?  “I’m not an invalid.”  Loki ordered himself to stand up at once, which he did with a great deal of unsteadiness, and was obliged to lean on the (hateful, hateful punishment) couch for balance.  “Mortal, maybe – which is terrible by the way; I don’t know how you live like this – but not an invalid.”

“Come on.”  Stark grabbed him under the arm, surprisingly strong, bearing what felt like half his weight with the grip.  “Bed.”

Loki let himself be taken down the hall and dumped facedown onto his bed.

“Off with the wet shirt,” Stark ordered, but Loki wasn’t feeling much like complying with any more orders right now, so in the end Stark took scissors and cut it away.  Soft blankets settled on his legs – up only to the knees – and over his back.  “Let’s, uh, let that air out a little.”

“Mm.”

“Damn, it looks-.... Damn.  I’ll delete this, but: check it out.”  A soft whirring _click,_ and then Stark was holding out his phone to show a picture.

Loki looked it over critically.  “I believe I had worse once or twice as a child.  Still, it was a real beating,” he acknowledged.  “I’m surprised you had that in you.”

“Tolja,” Stark said.  Then the defiance melted away.  “Uh... you okay?”                                                                                                                                

There was no serious injury.  The pain was already becoming less fierce and urgent.   And now that he wasn’t freezing, he was beginning to feel pleasantly lethargic instead.   “Of course.”

“ _We_ okay?”

It took him a moment to figure out what he meant by the question.  “Don’t be a fool.”

 _Only a fool doesn’t package his tool,_ he thought immediately.  And then: _I should kill him for searing stupidity like that into my brain_.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Hope you’re enjoying so far.  Really appreciate comments!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: A couple of people expressed surprised that Tony wasn't troubled by actually putting a hurting on.  My thinking on that is: We know Tony's not squeamish about blood and guts; he's basically done open-heart surgery on himself in a cave with welding tools, and seen/suffered/inflicted all kinds of injury as Iron Man.  So, I think that bruising/bleeding wouldn't bother him on its own.**

**I think that the prospect of really _hurting_ Loki *would* bother him... but Loki appears to be pretty much fine.  The guy has spent centuries engaging in armed close combat with superpowered aliens; he's probably used to injury like we can't even imagine.  He’s been iffy about suffering injury _as a mortal_ because he knows that injury now can mean actual danger and a slow recovery... but if he knows that’s not going to happen to him, he reverts to his usual attitude of: "Ow, this sucks, oh well."  I do think that if Loki had acted like the experience was severe and horrible, Tony would have stopped.  But if Loki isn’t distressed, I don't think raising a couple of welts would strike Tony as particularly problematic. **

 

****[The Next Day]** **

 

* * *

At first, his morning shower was murderous against his wounds.  By the time he was out and dressed in a bathrobe, though, he felt inordinately _better_.  He felt calm and cozy, the robe unusually fluffy against his skin.   He couldn’t remember this ever happening in Asgard; in Asgard he’d usually lain in the healing room in itchy misery while the spells did their work.

The strangeness puzzled him, until finally he had to seek out Stark to ask about it.  “Is it usual,” he said over lunch, “To feel this _good_ after an injury?” 

Stark hesitated a moment, looking uncomfortable, so he went on to joke to fill the silence.  “...Because if it is, you know, then perhaps that’s why threats of bodily harm don’t seem to move humans the way I’m expecting.”

Stark made a face.  “No, that’s just because the humans you were threatening happened to be a team of the earth’s biggest badasses,” he said.  “Normally, injuries aren’t fun.  It’s usual for injuries to hurt humans for a long time.” 

“Then why is this different?”  He felt wonderful.  Warm and relaxed, and only pleasantly achy when he sat weight on the injured parts.

Stark rubbed the back of his neck.  “Ahh... that’s maybe because... maybeIspikedyourcoffeewithvicodinthismorning,” he mumbled at last.

“What?”  He looked up.  “Jarvis?  What did he say?”

The machine answered at once.  “Mr. Stark said that he laced your coffee with a drug called _vicodin_ this morning, sir.  It’s a painkiller.”

“I see.”

“I believe you’re high, sir.”

Stark hopped up from his stool.  “Come on, not _that_ high.  I barely gave him any.”  He shrugged in Loki’s direction.  “Sorry - I know it’s not cool to dose people on the sly.  I just felt bad, because I know that _has_ to be killing you.  But I figured you'd say no if I asked.  You have yet to take even an Excedrin when I offer.”

So he’d been drugged without his consent.  Later on that would surely make his skin crawl, but presently he just couldn’t bring himself to care.  Perhaps he _was_ high, a little.  “I forgive you,” he said.  “Provided you drug my supper as well.”

* * *

After the vicodin had worn off Loki pronounced the pain _not at all bad enough to call for medication,_ which was good... but still asked for a few more pills to play with.  Tony said no, because if there was one thing more bad-news than a crazy homocidal mischief god, it was a crazy homocidal mischief god _on drugs._

Said mischief god knew where the medicine cabinet was, though, so until he figured out a way to Loki-proof it he thought it wise to work from home for the afternoon.  He set himself up in the living room, but before long his guest - still in a bathrobe - appeared at his shoulder.  “What are you doing?”

He waved a couple of pages of holograms into the _maybe_ pile.  “Trying to deal with a couple of really annoying patents.  The guy won’t sell, so I can either design around them or send my lawyers to attack head-on.  I’m trying to figure out which is easier - and by _easier,_ I mean _less totally unviable._   Hm.  No.”  He tossed another document into the virtual garbage heap.

“Mm.  Well, I’d offer to help, but...”

“But you’re both high and clueless, so, thanks, but yeah no.”

Loki sniffed.  “I’m not high anymore, and I’m more intelligent than you realize.  But fine, have it your way.  You work, and I’ll sit on the couch drinking beer.  Someone really should give you a tutorial on slaveowning; you’re terrible at it.”

A good point.  This was ass-backwards, and he should fix it.  There must be _some_ use he could make of the guy, if for no other reason than it really wasn’t fair that he got a free ride while everyone else in the world had to work to put food on the table.  Hm.

The problem was, Loki had to be kept secret, and anyway he already _had_ people to do everything for him.  Wait.  “There is something,” he said.  “There’s a gigantic pile of fanmail I have to answer, months of buildup.  Pepper won’t let me hire someone because a lot of it is sick kids, charity contacts, that kind of thing, and if I hired someone and they gave a tabloid interview about how Tony Stark can’t be bothered to pick up the pen himself for Little Lizzy Leukemia...”

“Fine.”  Loki shrugged.  “Give me a few samples of your handwriting and I’ll take care of it.”

He blinked.  How old-skool!  “I didn’t mean you had to actually _write_.  That's why the good Lord created keyboards.”

“Computer letters won’t suit your purpose; any of your servants could give that same interview and you’d have no way to prove them a liar.”

“ _Interns._   They're called  _interns_ now.”

Loki waved that away.  “The notes ought to be in your handwriting.  And they will be: I’ve been forging ever since there were written texts to forge.”

There was something a leeeeeeeeettle bit fucked-up about sending hero-worshipping kids notes penned by _Loki,_ but... what they didn’t know, right?  As long as he read every one before it went out and made sure everything was kosher...

Tony powered down his tablet and went to go get him set up.   And took his beer away, just in case.

* * *

**[The next weekend, Thor is over.]**

* * *

“What do you want to do?  But don’t say clubbing,” Stark added a second later.  “Your brother and I are taking the weekend off; we’ve been getting way too smashed way too often.”

Thor frowned, but before he could answer Loki spoke up.  “ _Clubbing_ is the earth word for carousing, and _smashed_ means drunk,” he explained, rolling his eyes.  “We haven’t actually been clubbing and smashing things.”

Ah.  “Of course.  I know what clubbed and smashing are,” he lied... and Loki didn’t call him out.  Incredible.  His attitude really _had_ improved; perhaps a sentence of servitude wasn’t as terrible an idea as it had seemed.  “I will do anything that pleases you; you’re our host,” he went on graciously.  Once again he held his breath, waiting for Loki to embarrass him by guessing (correctly!) that he just didn’t know any appropriate forms of Midgard entertainment to suggest.

But when Loki spoke up, it was to do no such thing.  “Can we go out?  Not clubbing if you’d rather not.  Just... somewhere.”

It was both friendly and deferential - and addressed to Stark, not him.  He knew it was proper, but he didn’t like it.

“Sure,” Stark said easily.  “As long as we’re back by dinner; I have something tonight.  Beach?  We can take the suit and buddyboy can fly, so no traffic.  Yeah?”

Beach?  Offered to Loki so casually?  Thor could hardly believe it.  And yet it was true: an hour later they were on the beach, almost totally alone (a quick burst of rainstorm had taken care of that), Loki reclining relaxed and unfettered in the damp sand... _free_ , to all appearances.  It was almost possible to forget that he was not.

“I hear you _thinking,_ ” Loki accused lazily, from behind glasses so dark that Thor could not see his eyes.  “Stop it.  You never think.  Why start now?”

“I’ll, uh, leave you two to chat in private.”  Stark hopped up, clad only in his bathing-sling.  “See you in the water.”

One the mortal was gone Thor turned his attention to his brother again.  “That is unfair.  Last time you accused me of _not_ thinking, and called me a bilgesnipe.  This time you say-”

“A bilgesnipe _in heat,_ ” Loki corrected, over him.  He stretched out his legs, yawned.  “And I’m joking, brother.  I only wanted to know what you were thinking about.”

He swallowed.  In his experience, Loki was never just joking or just making conversation.  There was always something hidden, and nasty, in everything he said.  “Nothing,” he said.

“Ah.”  Loki chuckled.  “There’s the Thor we know and love.”

“I was thinking about you,” Thor snapped, finally goaded.  “And Stark.”  He saw that Loki had gone very still.  “Is he-...”  _Is he treating you all right?_   He couldn’t ask it.  “How are things?”

“Things are very well,” Loki said, neutral.  “Do you want to hear about it?”

Was that a trap?  “I-... Yes, if you’ll tell me.  I don’t mean to press you if you won’t.”

“Stark and I spend an inordinate amount of time entertaining ourselves,” he began.  “But I actually have begun working now, several days of the week.  My duties consist mainly of helping him with tasks he doesn’t want to deal with.  Rather like what I used to do for _you,_ actually.”

Thor couldn’t read the tone.  “Let us not quarrel, brother,” he pleaded.  “You know I don’t agree with what-”

“Yes yes yes.”  Loki waved it off, and continued.  “I have my own office, in the tower because it makes secrecy easier.  The work is unspeakably boring, but given what _could_ be asked of me I’d be mad to complain about writing letters and approving spreadsheets.  I am satisfied with the arrangement.”

 _Satisfied as you never were in Asgard?_ But he managed not to say it.  “You-... seem to get along well with him,” he said instead, attempting to swallow down his jealousy and be happy.

But Loki, as always, heard what he did not say.  He shifted his glasses to the top of his head and sat up.  “I like him.  More importantly, he’s had literally unlimited opportunity to do me harm – and hasn’t.”  He looked towards the water, as if making absolutely sure Stark was out of earshot, before adding:  “And he isn’t just waiting to taunt me with mercy and then yank it away again, either.  I checked.”

Thor crossed his arms.  “How very _like you_ to suspect a good man of such cruelty, brother.”  But he was curious:  “And what do you mean, you _checked_?”

Loki shrugged.   Put his glasses back on and stretched out.  “Under guise of a drunken outpouring of gratitude and affection,” he purred, oily, “I told him I’d finally come to believe in his innate _goodness_.”  Disdain made the word into almost a curse.  “I told him that thanks to his kind treatment I’m happier now than I’ve been in years.”  He flashed a quick smile.  “I said everything.  If he’d meant to pull the rug out, there was nothing more to wait for.”

 _Were you lying to him?_  But he couldn’t bring himself to ask.  “And since then... nothing has changed?”

“Nothing – save that I’m no longer permitted to order bottle service and drink the whole thing myself.  Weeks have passed.”  Loki yawned and tipped his head back.  “Caution is one thing, but at this point I think mistrust would be simply idiotic.  Don’t you?”

* * *

The rare moment of peace with Thor was, predictably, brief.  No sooner had Loki gotten to his feet and doffed his clothes to swim that Thor grabbed his arm and demanded:  “What is that?”

He turned, frowning.  “What is what?”

“Your-...”  Thor swallowed.  “You told me he wasn’t hurting you.  _He_ told me as well.”

Oh – that.  He reached back to touch himself, feeling like a fool.   His bathing suit covered his buttocks, but his thighs too were still tender, even painful in places.  Of course marks remained.

For half a second he weighed the utility and feasibility of a lie: both minimal.  The truth, then.  “When I told you that, he wasn’t,” he explained simply.  “But we eventually found the paddle to be insufficient as a deterrent force, so we upgraded.  What does it look like?”

Thor didn’t answer that.  “ _We_ ,” he echoed instead.  Thoughtfully.  Nodded.  “So you are at least given some say in your own punishments, then?” he said.  “That’s good, brother.  Not to be dragged to the block like a-”

Loki shoved him so hard he fell over, to shut him up.  “You misunderstand.”   Thor was imagining him a contrite and submissive penitent, and the picture offended him.  “What I meant by _we_ is that Stark is subject to the same discipline I am; it’s only fair.”

Thor blinked up at him.  “I don’t follow - what do you mean?”

That gave him pause.  Of _course_ Thor didn’t follow; the arrangement was so patently absurd as to be inconceivable even when clearly explained.  If word got back to Odin about it surely his life would take a turn for the worse, so he waved it off irritably.  “Never mind,” he said.  “Just know that - unlike the guards in Father’s dungeons - when Stark lays hands on me he is humane and polite.  I don’t find the policy to be a hardship.”  _In fact I find I rather enjoy it.  Though certainly not for the reasons Stark is always joking about._ “Now, come on: let’s swim.”

He made for the water without allowing Thor time to say anything else, but unfortunately, as soon as he got out into the waves Stark reopened the subject.  “I have a good guess what you guys were just talking about,” he said grimly, “And Bambi, I hope to god you made it clear that I don’t usually hit you that hard.  That that was a special occasion involving, you know, a particular safety concern.”

 _Little Loki wears a raincoat._ No: he would die before he let Thor know that Stark had bent him over and lectured him about crotch poxes.  He ignored that and said instead: “I told him I’m not in difficulty – and on the beach, that was true.  But do you have any idea how badly salt water stings?”

Stark splashed to upright.  “Oh god – I didn’t even think of that.”  He laughed.  “Shit – you okay?”

“Mm-hm.”  Thor’s concern had annoyed him, but this felt... easy.  Not stifling.  “Swimming was perhaps not the wisest thing I could have done today, but I’ll survive.”

“Good.  Salt water’s supposed to help you heal, anyway.”  A jerky little wave.  “You know.  It’s a mortal thing.”

He wished Stark would stop with those little reminders.  “So is drowning,” he said, and leaped without warning.

Predictably, Thor pulled him off immediately, bellowing at him.  Loki ignored it. 

Stark, for his part, only waggled his head from side to side, knocking water out of his ears.  Ignoring Thor too.

“Punish me for that if you like,” Loki said.  “If it gets you to think twice about mocking me next time, it will be well worth it.”

Stark blew water out of his nose.  “You could, uh, develop a higher tolerance for me mocking you,” he suggested.

“About as easily as you could develop one for drowning.”

This time Stark was ready for him and they scuffled, but the man was embarrassingly unskilled at hand combat and Loki got him underwater with little difficulty. 

Thor didn’t interfere this time, but he let go after just a few seconds anyway.

* * *

  **TBC...**

 


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:**  
**Sorry to get a little (emotionally) heavy here! I’ve been trying to keep this fic pretty light, but...**

* * *

  
**[That night.]**

Tired out physically (swimming) and otherwise (the inevitable arguments with Thor), Loki went to bed early.

But noisy music woke him up at midnight. He went to investigate, and found Stark sitting on the couch with his knees drawn up, wrapped in blankets even though it wasn't cold, staring. There was a bottle of liquor on the coffee table, but no glass.

Hmm. “Stark? What’s going on?”

“Areeyem,” Stark said indistinctly. “Losing my religion.”

“What?” He'd had no idea Stark was religious at all.

Stark’s eyes finally focused. “R.E.M.,” he said more clearly. “The group. Losing My Religion is the song. I’ve always found it bizarrely soothing.”

Clearly, something had happened. He handed Stark the bottle. “Why do you need to be soothed?”

“Flashback when I got in the shower.” He was flat and matter-of-fact. “A bad one. Thanks.” He took a big sip. “I thought I was okay horsing around in the ocean today, but apparently...” He sighed and tipped his head back.

Loki didn’t understand, and it was unclear if Stark wanted him to stay. He hovered uncertainly.

“Do you even know what I’m talking about?” Stark said at last. “You don’t know what I’m talking about. Okay, let me tell you the whole story then; talking is supposed to help. And I _order_ you, officially, master to slave, not to run around gossiping about it to anyone.  It’s not like people don’t already know - there’s a fricking _documentary_ for God’s sake; it’s how the Iron Man got started - but still. You keep this to yourself.”

“Of course.” He sat down on the couch and settled in. “Tell me.”

Stark told him. It was a story of kidnapping and torture and trickery and escape, an incident he would have thought a marvelous adventure... were it not for Stark’s tone, which suggested that the experience had deeply frightened and upset him. The man’s voice was flat and emotionless at times, frantic at others, and grew weak and halting in more than a few places. Some parts of the story - including the water part - had clearly been told and re-told already, but other parts sounded fresh, raw and untouched. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, that Stark would give him information he’d kept largely secret for years, but in any event it was obvious what he was supposed to say as soon as Stark was finished.

“I am so sorry. Obviously, had I known that you’ve been recently tortured with mock drownings, I would not have pushed you underwater today.” (Or, he would have done so more cautiously, at least.)

“No! _No_ ,” Stark repeated, almost angry. “I know people who are PTSD, who can’t take flash pictures, who run around like-... no. I’m not gonna be that guy.” He shook his head hard. “I went to a shrink so I could _talk_ about water. I took swim lessons so I could _be_ in the water. I even hired a dominatrix so I could be _forced_ into the water, and that was really not awesome at first, but I got used to it. I’m okay.”

Half the words were unfamiliar, but he understood well enough. He reached over and took the bottle. “Your hands beg to differ. You’re trembling.”

“Well I was okay _at the time_ , anyway. I just-... man. I wasn’t expecting that. In the damn _shower_.”

Loki took a sip himself, and made a face. “Shall I make you a real cocktail? Or get you some pills? You can’t drink this straight; it’s disgusting.”

“I’m not drinking it for the taste. And no: no pills. I don’t do pills.”

“Neither do I. Except when people slip them into my coffee without my knowledge.” He clapped Stark on the shoulder as if in jest... but Stark didn’t shrug him off, so he stayed for long minutes, rubbing, until he felt the muscles relaxing under his hand.

* * *

Tony woke up in his bed the next morning, which seemed fine until he remembered Loki ushering him down the hallway and tucking him in. God, that was embarrassing. He tried to forget it.

He considered showering. Showering _should_ be fine. Though if last night repeated itself...

“Sir,” Jarvis said. “Loki has requested that I inform him when you awoke. Would you like me to do that?”

He felt a little bad that his housemate - who had done a stellar job of calming him down last night, without asking a single stupid question - wasn’t entitled to even basic information. “Yes, tell him. And for future: if he asks you questions, you can give him anything simple and factual that I’m not trying to hide.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighed and waited for Loki’s knock. The shower would wait.

It wasn’t long before Loki was lurking in the doorway. “Stark.” He looked incredibly stiff and uncomfortable. “I was working on your fanmail, and I found this one. I think perhaps you should answer it yourself. Or, or hire someone. But not me.”

Hm. He beckoned. “Lemme see.” He unfolded the letter, which was typed - did kids not even have to learn cursive anymore? - and started reading. “Dear Mr. Stark. My name is Brian and I’m 12 years old. I’m writing to you because I can’t stop thinking about flying. That’s because I can’t walk anymore - I lost both my legs when the aliens attacked New York. I just-” He looked up. “Yeah, I see your point. You, uh, probably shouldn’t be the one to write this kid. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.”

“Loki.” He stopped in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “Listen, we should, uh, talk about all that. Sometime.”

“Why?” Loki said tightly.

Why indeed? They had gone months without talking about it, there really _was_ no constructive way to talk about it, and he had no idea what to say and no idea what he was doing. Well... that wasn’t entirely true. “Because you’re going to have to talk about it sometime,” he said. “People will make you. I _still_ get reminded about all the Stark Industries missiles that blew up malls and buses and residential blocks. There’s at least one photo of a severed body part - usually a kid’s - waved around at every single press conference I give.”

 _Those aren't your fault_ , Loki should have said. _People just want someone to rage at, and you're an easier and safer target than the ones who actually did the deeds._ It was true - he knew it was true. But it was nice to hear people confirm that for him every now and again.

Instead Loki was silent a while... and when he did speak, what he said was: “I don’t give press conferences. I’ll never have to answer to humans for anything I’ve done. Which is fortunate, as unlike you I have nothing to say that could make me at all palatable to them.”

Tony blinked. Not what he was expecting, but okay, he could rationalize. Loki's ability to be empathetic only kicked in when he didn't have problems of his own eating up his attention. That made sense.

“I’ve already gone before Odin,” Loki went on, quietly. “He took my station, my name, my freedom. And he took my magic, which is a mutilation I can’t even describe to you - I’d much rather have lost something so trivial as a couple of limbs. But in any event: I have been punished. There’s nothing more to say.”

Tony definitely disagreed with that... but since he didn’t know what he _should_ say, he let Loki go, and sat down to work on the letter.

* * *

He couldn’t imagine what had made Stark wait this long before mentioning what he’d done. Out of a perverse curiosity about what would finally happen when the matter was addressed, he had dropped hints himself a few times over the past months, but Stark had ignored them. In fact, other than flat-out refusing to give Loki back his Asgardian clothes, Stark had seemed to ignore entirely everything that had taken place prior to the commencement of The Situation.

He should have known that that was too good to be true. He _knew_ how Stark addressed transgressions: he named them and imposed punishment and then declared them done with. But this... this he had never touched. It had never been paid for. Odin had been infuriated about his insolence, his temerity in attacking a realm Thor had claimed for his own, and his presumptuousness in claiming a title Odin no longer wanted him to have. He’d been punished for all that... and for _failing_. That above all. For being defeated, and bringing shame to the Allfather’s proud line. But Odin didn’t give two shits about the humans he had killed.

Stark did. Stark cared about his pathetic realmmates with a ferocity Loki would never understand. He was willing to lay down his life for them if necessary - he had almost done it on more than one occasion. (A terrifying prospect, because what would become of _him_ should Stark fall, but that was a worry for another time).

How could Stark reconcile becoming friendly with one who had butchered so many of them?

It must be that he was just simply _not thinking of it_ , that he had buried deep the knowledge of what Loki had done. That was the only explanation. He had buried the knowledge... but today, it was going to burst forth. At this very moment, Stark was sitting in his bedroom writing a letter to a child whose life Loki had destroyed - telling him what? That his pain would be avenged?

Until now Stark had been consistently generous and gentle, but surely, with the full history before him, he would now change his ways. Surely, on the next infringement of some silly household rule the storm would break. Stark would remember who he was dealing with, and treat him accordingly. That suit could crush his bones to powder.

He found he couldn’t face waiting for it.  Nothing could be worse than living in fear. Without even giving himself a chance to change his mind, he knelt down by Stark’s glass coffee table, raised a lamp over his head, and brought it down hard.

* * *

“Sir. Loki has just smashed your coffee table. Deliberately.”

Tony took a deep breath. “Are you fucking kidding me.” He got out of bed and stormed into the living room, and there was Loki, kneeling in a pile of glass. Blood all over the carpet. “What the _fuck_.”

Loki smiled up at him - looking _fucking crazy_. Loopy and unfocused. “How’s your letter?”

Right. He had a good guess of what the guy was up to. “This does not count as atonement,” he said, as coldly as he could. “You fucking fail. Now tell me, right now: how bad is that?” He pointed to the blood.

Loki glanced down and shook his head. “A few cuts are minor, a few more serious, but none present any danger.”

He couldn’t believe that after everything it had still occurred to him to _worry_. About _Loki_. He fucking hated it. “Then you can get bandaids later. Right now stand up. Up. _Up!_ Stand the fuck up!”

He did - still smiling. Eyes bright. Totally fucking nuts.

“Look at that - look what you did. Look at my table.” He pointed. “Whatever’s going on in that apeshit-crazy head of yours does _not_ give you the right to smash other people’s belongings!  Get the fuck over to that couch. Go!”

He was so angry he almost couldn’t breathe. Fucking Loki. The most selfish fucking alien in the universe - and he was _worried_ about him. Fucking asshole.

He stood at the cabinet a moment, imagining. The cane could do more damage but it felt too _delicate_ ; he wanted heft, the ability to really use his strength. He took the paddle instead and came to stand in position. “You are about to be made very, very sorry.” He drew his arm back - screw the wrist; screw the elbow; this time his whole shoulder was in on the action.

“Ready?” he said - habit; this time he didn’t particularly care if the fucker was ready or not.

Loki sucked his breath in and nodded.

He froze. The scene was so familiar, but felt so _wrong_. He was _speaking_ all cold and orderly, maybe, but in fact he was completely out of control. “Hold on.” He stepped away from the couch and dropped his arm to his side. “I’m too pissed off. Hold on.”

He walked around front, adrenaline pumping, _rage_ pumping, and without warning swung the paddle down full-force onto the cushion just beside Loki’s head.

Loki shouted in terror. Hid his face.

But Tony... felt a little better. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t move.”

He beat the living shit out of the couch for a minute, and it really did help. Once he was done he could breathe again - and think. “Okay. I’m sorry if that scared you,” he said, since Loki was shaking like a leaf and making high little whimpery noises, “But it did the job; I’m better now. I’m all set. Are you still okay to get hit?”

Loki shuddered hard. Finally nodded.

Clearly still terrified, but Tony wasn’t yet feeling very forgiving. “Okay. Five for my table, because you don’t get to break my furniture just because you’re having issues, but calm the hell down; I’m not going to really hurt you. I promise. You ready?”

This time he spoke up. “Yes.”

It wasn’t meant to be a friendly paddling; Tony made it sting. But he had his shit together now and he was careful, especially over the lingering cane bruises, and Loki took it without any problem. Afterwards he said: “I’m sorry I smashed your table. I was troubled. It was... collateral damage.”

He couldn’t make himself be nice; he was still too pissed. “You are immature and destructive and completely self-centered is what you are. Collateral damage is your middle name. Fuck you, man.” He sighed. “But okay: _for the table_ , you are forgiven. Don't do it again.” Fucking Loki. Trying to _dodge_ the fucking conversation, and _steal_ forgiveness anyway. (Like it was even Tony’s to give! Or like he’d give it if it were.) Fat fucking chance.

Loki stood up slowly - still bleeding all over the couch.

Tony sighed again. As pissed as he was, he couldn't pretend not to notice that one or two of those cuts needed stitches. “Come on. Let’s clean you up.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**Ouch, Tony!  Tellin it like it is.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:  One more relatively heavy one - sorry!  Then it should fluff up again.**

* * *

So much had happened with Stark in the night and the morning that he had almost forgotten that they had a guest.

Thor wandered in in his pajamas after noon.  “What happened?” he said, pointing to all the glass.

Loki braced up, but Stark just shrugged and lied easily.  “Disgruntled delivery man.  Don’t worry about it, he’s gone now.”

“Oh.  I am glad to hear it.”  Then Thor looked at him.  Brows raised.  Expectant-..

Oh.  “I’ll clean it up,” he offered quickly.  “Sorry.”  He’d grown used to ignoring his _station_ ; Stark insisted.  But they should be careful in front of Thor, since anything Thor saw could get back to Odin eventually.

Stark paced, the way he did when something made him uncomfortable. Eventually he said: “Thor.  Balcony beer?  Come on - it’s five o’clock somewhere.  Loki’ll join us when he’s done.”

_Day drinking_ was something Stark usually disapproved of; clearly the invitation was just meant to get Thor out of the way.  Probably for _his_ sake, so that he didn’t have to do menial work in front of an audience.  He appreciated the consideration...

Until he saw Stark dark a quick look at him as the glass door closed behind them, and lead Thor away to a far corner of the patio. 

They planned to talk about him, then. 

“Jarvis,” he said into the air.  “Is there a robot creature that can clean this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, deploy it.”  He rose and brushed the glass dust from his hands.  “Instruct it to clean, and afterwards put it away again.”

He went to the glass and saw the two of them leaning close together, engrossed in some conversation about whose contents he had no illusions.  He slid the door open and crept out, and moved along the building as near as he dared without drawing their attention.

“-I mean really.  I was... I was pissed.”

“Loki does have that effect on people.”  Thor sounded amused.

“Sir.”  Jarvis interrupted over the balcony speakers.  “The kitchen smoke detector has just begun emitting the _low battery_ signal.  The batteries must be changed manually.”

Shit!  Loki looked around; was there anywhere he could go if Stark turned around now-?

But Stark didn’t turn.  “Thanks, J.  I’ll take care of it later.  Go on, Thor.” 

Thor sighed.  “Loki mistreats everyone,” he said at last, “And most people learn quickly that it is wiser to give him no trust at all.  I am the only idiot who never learns that lesson.”  Loki _refused_ to feel hurt; he’d told Thor as much himself.  “I’m the only one he’s able to betray time and again.”

“Well I don’t think he _meant_ to mistreat me,” Tony said.  “Not me personally.  It’s just he was a selfish insensitive prick, who incidentally has _killed a whole shitload of people_ and doesn’t even seem to care about it.  He pissed me off and I came _this_ close to losing my temper with him.  I mean I wouldn’t have, you know, _done_ anything,” he added quickly.  Loki wondered if he actually believed himself.   “But it could have gotten nasty.  I’m just wondering if you have any, you know, Loki-specific ways of de-escalating bad situations.  Any advice - I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“Advice.”  Thor took a slow breath.  “I can tell you that had you truly lost your temper with him, Loki would not have easily forgiven you,” he said flatly.  “That is his way: he will goad and torment and say things crueler than you can even conceive.  He’ll demand satisfaction - a fight.  And when your patience finally runs dry and you give him the beating he’s been begging for... he’ll hate you.  And he’ll insist that _you_ were the one who mistreated _him._ ”

“Huh.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand him, Tony Stark.  He was my brother for so many years, and I loved him, but I think I never truly knew his mind.”

_Was?_   His throat was thick suddenly.  On the heels of Stark’s commentary this morning - _you are immature and destructive and completely self-centered.  Collateral damage is your middle name_ \- it was too much.  No good would come of hearing things like this; it was better to go back inside.

Before he could think of a way to leave without being noticed, though, Stark spoke up.  “He still _is_ your brother,” he said, with a little bit of an edge.  “Just because Odin decided to disown the guy doesn’t mean _you_ have to.”

“No, it’s-... not that.  We learned that-...”  Thor fidgeted.  “We learned that Odin had stolen Loki, as a baby,” he said.  “He was not my parents’ own child.  We are not blood.  Not family.” 

“That is a damn narrow definition of _family,_ pal.”

_Stop there.  Don’t tell.  Don’t-_

“Loki is a frost-giant.”

_No._ He closed his eyes.   All this time knowing, and he still couldn’t stand to hear it aloud.  Thor was grim and reluctant - it was something he had to steel himself to say.  No wonder.  To know that he’d lived with one of _them_ for so long... 

And now Stark would know it too.

But when Stark echoed it: “Loki’s a frost-giant,” he sounded only confused.  “And you’re a, a what?  Lightning giant?”

Thor turned to face him.  “Do you jest?”  He was angry - rightfully so.  “I am of Asgard.  My blood is Aesir - pure.  I am no _giant_.”

“Uh-huh.  Got it.”  Stark drummed on the railing restlessly.  “FYI though, the idea of blood purity is really not something we support here on earth anymore.  I mean, there’s still some straggling Neanderthals wandering around who think that way, but they’re in the minority.  You should ask Steve about em sometime actually.  Oh!  Also, the bad guys in the Harry Potter books.  They think that too.”

Stark had copped an attitude; it sounded almost as if he was offended on the frost-giants’ behalf.  Were the denizens of Midgard somehow _related_ to the giants?  He had learned the realms centuries ago, and it was possible he’d forgotten, but... he didn’t think so.

Thor was confused as well.  “I do not understand you, Tony Stark,” he said stiffly.  Tried to laugh.  “Perhaps you are good company for Loki after all.”

Thor give Stark a half-hearted clap on the shoulder and strode inside, so fast and purposefully he didn’t even notice Loki standing pressed against the wall.

As soon as he was gone Stark cleared his throat.  “New rule, Bambi,” he said loudly.  “No listening at keyholes.”

It took him only a second to realize: “Jarvis.  Warned you.”

“Yeah.  My smoke detectors don’t _actually_ need manual battery changes.”

Damn.  Sometimes he forgot that Stark was not stupid.  “I wasn’t listening at keyholes,” he said, “I was lurking in the shadows.”   He came forward; no point hanging back now.  “You really annoyed him.”

“Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.”  He took a long slow sip of his beer.  “So.  Frost-giant: what is that?”

Loki took his brother’s place, staring out at the city.  Stark was asking; he had to tell.  He would do it as matter-of-factly as Stark had related his own miseries the night before.  “The frost-giants are a race of savages,” he said.  “They’re the monsters under our beds.  Apparently I am one - but Odin never told me.”  He laughed softly.  “Thor did though, a thousand times.  _You be the frost-giant,_ _and I’ll kill you._   It was his favorite game as a child.”

“That’s... kind of fucked-up number one,” Stark said.  “And number two, maybe I’m missing something here, but I think you need to stop hating on the species you belong to.  Embrace the frostiness, right?”

“Stark... my _species_ is something you just simply do not understand.  In all seriousness I am begging you not to mention it again.” 

Stark seemed to consider.  “Okay - I mean, it’s your call,” he said at last.  “I won’t mention it if you really don’t want me to.  But just let me register my view that that’s not a good idea.  If _you_ don’t accept yourself, damn sure no one else will.”

Loki snorted.  “Easy to accept yourself when you’re a handsome and popular human hero.  How much would you still _accept yourself_ if you awoke one day and weren’t any of that?  Not even human.  Just some sort of, of beast.  Vermin.”

“If that happened I’d change my name to Kafka, write a book about it, and sell a million copies,” Stark answered instantly.  (What?).  “Hey - you really think I’m handsome?”

* * *

It seemed like they were gradually getting back to normal again.  Thor left after a couple of days, and Tony celebrated an end to the awkwardness by bringing Loki to Wendy’s and ordering him a frosty (“a _giant_ frosty!”), which earned the dirtiest look _ever_ but was really too delicious for Loki to object to for long.

“How is it - good, right?”

“You’re an ass, Stark.”

He smirked.  Even a supervillain was hard to take seriously while slurping on a frosty.  “Lemme get a picture.”

“What?  Why?”  Loki glowered, and then when the phone actually came out started tugging self-consciously at his sleeves.

Long sleeves.  Which made Tony remember: “Hey.  How are those cuts - have you been using the antibacterial stuff I gave you?”

“Of course.”

“Liar.”  Sure enough, Loki swallowed and looked down a second.  “Look, I don’t order you around for no reason - when I tell you you have to do something for health and safety, you have to do it.  Not skip it and lie about it.  Now we have to you-know-what later.  Anyway, let me see.”

The cuts were healing all right.  He did damn good stitches, thank you very much.  “Hey - Thor doesn’t scar,” he recalled.  “Do you?”

“I didn’t used to.  As a mortal I do.”  Loki drew his finger along a faint white line down the inside of his wrist.

Tony blinked.  “What’s that?”  The placement, and the gesture, left little room for misinterpretation.  He grabbed at it.  “You _cut_ yourself?!”

The guy seemed _surprised_ by his reaction.  Tugged free and tried to wave it off.  “I changed my mind partway through.  I’d hardly started.”

_Changed my mind._ There went any hope that the nut was just chasing an endorphin rush.  He made himself say it.  “You were _suicidal_?”

He laughed - not very mirthfully - and took a long noisy slurp.  “As well as homicidal, genocidal, fratricidal, regicidal - you name it.  There’s a _reason_ I was sentenced to eternal slavery, Stark.  They say Odin is never wrong.”

“ _Odin_ says Odin is never wrong, that’s for sure.”   Tony’s mouth was still cracking jokes, even as his stomach flipped.  “So, uh... you’re not going to do that again, right?”

“Why does it concern you?  I know I’m your property, but I’m clearly of no value at all to you.”

“Oh don’t sell yourself short, kid; when you’re not destroying my stuff and freaking me out, you’re great company.” 

For once Loki didn’t seem to catch his sarcasm.  Didn’t seem to be kidding at all.  “Maybe, but you’d be able to keep a companion of your choice if I were gone.”                            

“Then it must be that stupid mortal weakness we call a _heart_.  Sorry.”

Loki frowned at him a while.  Trying to read him, it looked like.  “I see,” he said at last.  “Then, hear me.”  He even put his drink down.  “You need not worry.  I thought that death might be preferable to what awaited me here; I have since learned that it is not.  I won’t do it again.”  Slurp.

He couldn’t even.  “ _Promise_ _me_ no more suicide.  And then I’ll get you another frosty.”

Loki slurped up the last of it and looked him in the eyes.  “I promise.”

* * *

** TBC. **

**I’m psyched for the next chapter; some of the other Avengers make an appearance.  Let me know what you think so far!**

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, but this one was a little bit long.**

 

**[Few weeks later]**

* * *

The city was once again under attack, but this time by a much less formidable enemy than the horde Loki had unleashed. It was only a few dozen creatures, metal and soulless like his father’s Destroyer. Thor had been told that they were built and controlled by a human madman but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed this; the idea that a human madman could duplicate what Odin had taken many times a human lifetime to accomplish seemed ludicrous.

In any event, thinking was for later: at the moment, there were creatures. The Avengers battled them mightily, an entire morning long, until each one was crushed, dismembered, electrocuted. Thor struck the last blow himself, against one that had lifted a taxicab to use as a weapon. He smashed it easily, but as the creature fell so did the car. As there were mortals lying stunned on the ground, unable to get out of the way in time, he saw no choice but to brace himself on all fours and bear the weight himself.

The load of metal landed so heavy on him that for a moment he worried his back might be broken. But he held position until someone - Stark? Banner? - heaved it off. The humans were unhurt. And he was able to stand afterwards (albeit with assistance), so he knew all was well.

“Thor. Buddy? You okay? We have to go.” That was the Lady Natasha, tugging at his arm.

“A moment.” All he needed was a moment to get his bearings.

“Thor, the hostiles are down but this area is _not secure._ There’s a big crowd of civilians and we’re getting surrounded. Steve’s cut. They’re getting him loaded into the jet - we have to go. Come on.”

He pulled free of her. “Go where?” Not the flying fortress, he hoped. He hated the flying fortress.

“Tower.”

That was even worse. “I can’t go there,” he protested. “I was there not ten days ago, and Loki gets annoyed if I visit too often.”

Suddenly she was gripping his chin hard.  “ _Loki_?”

* * *

“I told you. I told you, I told you, I _told_ you.” It seemed to be all Stark could say as he toweled the sweat from his face.

Mortals were coming, Avengers, and despite Stark’s assurances Loki had no illusions about what they were going to do. _If we can’t protect the earth, you can be damn sure we’ll avenge it._ Stark had said it himself.

It was the height of stupidity, he saw now, to imagine that he would never be called on to answer for the destruction he had wrought. To imagine that nothing more would ever be asked of him than that he henceforth show (or pretend) goodwill to humans, and conform to Tony Stark’s ridiculously lax standards of behavior.

“What should I do?” he managed at last.

Stark was pretending at confidence. “It’ll be fine. We’ll just talk it out, okay? Nat and Barton aren’t the shoot-first-and-ask-later type, and they’re coming alone. We’ll be fine. Just do your best to be, you know, _palatable._ ”

He tried to breathe. Tried not to panic. The prospect of being given over to the mortals, locked up in that flying fortress to be degraded and brutalized, had been something that had panicked him badly at one time. It had been a long time since he’d imagined it, but now that he did, the thought was as terrifying as ever.

He tried to explain. “Stark, listen to me. I’m not _inventing_ awful things to fear - I saw them. In Barton’s mind.” That got a frown, at least. “He and Romanoff and their friends have been very, very cruel to their enemies in the past. I- I won’t submit to that. Death is a thing I’m at peace with, but I _will not_ allow myself to be broken.” He was about to demand that Stark be ready to kill him if necessary - or arm him so that he could do it himself - but before he could, Stark interrupted.

“Nobody is going to _break you_ in my damn living room,” he said grimly. “And nobody’s taking you from it for purposes I don’t approve of. Calm the hell down.”

A wave of anger rose up in him; Stark wasn’t taking the threat seriously. But Thor had never taken threats seriously either, so the anger was _familiar_ and he was able to ride it out and keep his tone reasonable. “They want vengeance. They’ll convince you.”

“You underestimate my stubbornness. I already _know_ all the arguments for why we should violate the Eighth Amendment for you - and they’re not bad arguments, frankly - but as I’ve told you, _I don’t roll that way._ ”

Did Stark think he would be _reassured_ to hear about this proposed _violation_? But snarling at him would do no good. “I belong to you as per Odin’s decree, but these people won’t respect that,” he said instead. “You’re one man. They’ll force you.”

“The hell they will. _They_ don’t roll that way - and I’m not just _any_ man.” Stark sighed. “You know what? Okay: I'll put the bracelets on, and I promise, at the first sign of trouble I'll suit up.”

* * *

**[[Two Hours Later]]**

Nat and Barton were a long way from convinced, and he was getting exhausted. Exhausted from fighting, and double-exhausted from talking nonstop to explain every little detail about fifty times while a pair of assassins fired questions at him. Hm. Maybe this was some kind of new interrogation technique.

He was doing all the talking himself, since Loki was pretty much just sitting tight and looking petrified. Whatever; that was better than copping an attitude.

When he finally caved to normal human needs and paused to pour himself a drink, Nat and Barton drew off to confer quietly among themselves.  After their powwow, Natasha said:  “Well, it sounds like Loki’s been a perfect angel.”  She was cool, with just the faintest hint of a sneer.

“Perfect? Absolutely not,” he said instantly. “He fucks up all my laundry mixing whites and colors, and he never puts the dishes back quite where they go.” He saw Barton shift - irritated. “But he has been _generally_ trying to behave himself.  Not fuck up the earth any more than he already has.”

“The most obvious explanation for good behavior would be that he’s playing you,” she said, brow drawn. “But you don’t seem to think so. Apparently he did something to make you trust him. What was it?”

He felt kind of bad that Loki had to hear this, but on the other hand, at this point pride was really the least of his problems. “Okay, so, you’re remembering this badass who flies around on a space jetski zapping people’s minds,” he began, “but that's history. Since then he got beat down and depowered, demoted from a ‘he’ to an ‘it’, and dumped on my doorstep looking like an ASPCA ad.”

“Okay.” She crossed her arms, nodded, big innocent eyes. Sarcastic as hell. “So you felt bad for him.”

“That’s not what I said,” Tony snapped, even though it was the truth. “I just mean that he’s currently nothing for anybody to be scared of. The question was more how could _he_ trust _me_ than vice versa.”

Barton broke in - sneering much more openly. “So how could he? You patch up all his boo-boos and make him a cocoa?”

Barton had good cause to hate Loki - he knew that. But this was... _mean._ He remembered suddenly what Loki had said: this was a guy who had tortured people. And Tony had been up close and personal with guys who tortured people, and in his informed opinion there was something deeply _wrong_ with them. Good cause or not.

So, instead of snapping back one of a hundred comebacks that came to mind, he went nuclear: told the plain and straightfaced truth. “No. I just decided against being a dick.  If he follows house rules he's treated nice, and if he doesn't, he pays for it and we move on.   Drama-free.”

Nat and Barton shared a glance. “Pays for it how?” she said at last.

At that, Loki finally got his shit together enough to speak up. “Don’t tell them.”

Duh. Describing the punishment system wouldn’t get anyone anywhere; “ _spanking”_ didn’t exactly convey a hell of a lot of gravitas, and Loki’s preferred more violent phrasings weren’t true - and more importantly, would make him sound like an abusive psycho.

But... but they were waiting. Of course they weren’t going to take his bare _word_. He would have to explain.

He thought fast. How could he convey that Loki took it seriously when he was punished, that he just _took it,_ that he bent over the couch and said he was sorry? That he actually seemed to mean it?

Even if he could find a way to say all that, they would never believe him.

But... he could prove it.

“Bambi: _down_ ,” he said suddenly. “You still owe for sending a heinously typo-ridden email out under _my_ name yesterday. _Proofing would have made me late for Jeopardy_ is not an excuse.” (Well, it sort of was. If this emergency hadn’t come up he’d been totally planning to let it slide.)

“ _What_?” He hadn’t heard the guy’s voice go so low and harsh... ever _._ He waited. “Stark... no,” Loki said a moment later, just a tad more calmly. “Not in front of these people. The punishments are-...” he glanced in fifty directions before locking eyes with Tony again and hissing, through grit teeth: “ _Private._ ”

It was perfect - he couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried. Loki could fuss or beg or rage or whatever he wanted to do, but in the end he would cooperate because at bottom _he had no choice_ and he knew it. Nat and Barton would see that, and it would go a damn long way towards reassuring them that he was no threat.

“Please,” Loki said - and that gave him an even better idea.

He wouldn't force it.  That way, he could show them that Loki was not just declawed, but actually _tamed_. “Sorry, pal,” he said. “I hear you, it sucks. But they have to see it. Okay?”

Loki shook his head, eyes wide.

He could explain it later - Loki would totally understand that he’d never lay a trip like this unless it was really, truly necessary. “Hey. I’ve been good to you,” he said. “All this time.”

“I’ve made it clear that I am grateful-”

“-And in all this time I have never asked you for anything,” Tony said over him. Loki fell silent. “Now I’m asking.”

Loki was still frozen. Visibly miserable. Good.

“You say you appreciate how I treat you,” he pressed. “That it's better than anything you had a right to expect.  Yeah?  Well, then now it’s time to put your money where your mouth is. I’m asking.”

Loki looked down, quiet for a good long while. Turned his back.

In the tense silence, they could all hear the _clink-click_ of his belt buckle.

* * *

Generally – with only a handful of exceptions – he enjoyed the beatings. Stark joked with him throughout, administered sensation that was almost pleasurable, and afterwards assured him that he’d been absolved. The only part that was truly uncomfortable was the announcement that he had transgressed (“Look, Bambi, it’s not cool the way you...”); the punishment itself generally felt like a relief and a reconciliation.

But not today. Today he was being humiliated in front of an audience - and Stark was hitting hard, without a word, without any tapping or rubbing to prepare him. It was unpleasant, but he reminded himself that compared to what he had endured in Asgard’s dungeons the discomfort – physical and otherwise – was still negligible. He kept his gaze focused on the far wall and did not turn to notice the mortals; they were beneath his notice anyway. He didn’t move or react to any of the blows, except to count them, calm and cold and sure.

After the fifth he felt Stark pressing down on him, forbidding him to rise. They were to be privy to the whole ritual, then. This felt oddly exposing, the worst yet, but he had clearly come too far to balk now. He thought of the crime: it had bothered him even as he hit _send,_ he remembered. _I should take another second; I didn’t even reread it-...._ “I’m sorry I did a poor job with your email.”

Stark’s hand moved to the back of his neck for a short friendly shake. “And I forgive you - Jeopardy’s important. There.”

He rose, trying not to hurry, and fixed his clothing. “And that’s it,” Stark was saying. “We haven’t had any problems that a spanking won’t take care of, and I don’t foresee any. The guy’s been different - new leaf. I mean it’s been _nine months,_ right? You can grow a whole person in that time.”

When he finally raised his eyes, the woman was staring at him, hard and appraising.

“Mm.” She crossed her arms. “So he’s now a _thing_ that you _own_. And you’ve always had a talent for refurbishing.”

Barton huffed. “Some people tinker with old cars... some with old demigods... same difference.”

Loki breathed deep. This was the degradation he had always expected; Stark was completely within his rights to encourage it and there was no conceivable protest he could make. Still, it was hard to bear. His face was hot and his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“Well, hey.” Stark was suddenly right beside him. He’d become so lightheaded he hadn’t even heard him approach. “Previous version was a little buggy, that’s all.” An arm was slung around him, familiar and insulting. “Right, Bambi?”

And he was being made to _participate._ He hated it, hated Stark and his friends more powerfully than he’d ever thought possible. But what choice did he have? “Right.”

The arm around his ribs tightened briefly - a squeeze that Stark usually meant as _friendly_. “Unbunch those panties; I’m kidding.”

“So what are you asking us to do, Stark?” the woman said, all business.

Stark answered without any hesitation. “Give the guy a chance - that’s all. Instead of running off right now and ratting to Fury, you just watch how he does from here on out.”

The mortals stared into each other’s eyes, twitching a little, a silent conversation that Loki could probably have interpreted on a better day. As it was, though, he just stood tense and waiting until they were finished.

Then the woman tossed her hair back and crossed her arms. “Are you going to do it again?” she asked.

He blinked. “Do what?” Get paddled? Wasn’t once enough?

“Any of it.” She squared up. “For starters: you picked Tony up by the neck and deliberately threw him to his death. Are you going to do _that_ again?”

It was a bucket of cold water over him. He had almost... forgotten. He looked over at Stark and found him leaning against the wall, arms crossed too, looking tense and wary. His throat closed.

“It’s a fair question,” Stark said into the silence. “I’ve never asked.”

He waited a moment, desperately hoping Stark would crack a joke and assure him that all was well between them, but Stark did nothing to help. Finally, when he still couldn’t manage words, he shook his head.

“Okay,” she said, “That’s a start. And what about the rest – destroying buildings, destroying lives, killing civilians for no reason?”

He couldn’t look at her, but he shook his head no.

“Never again?”

He swallowed hard. “Never again.”

She came close – too close – and then turned to address Stark instead. “Can I pet him?”

The world tilted with the force of his... his what? Rage? Shame? But he kept his jaw clenched and said nothing. “Don’t be a dick,” Stark complained.

She took his face in both hands. “I believe Tony about you,” she said. “Not just that he’s sincere, but that he’s _right._ ” Something in his chest loosened. “But just so you know: I believed him long before he hit you. As soon as he asked your permission and you said yes.” From behind her Barton snickered, and she dropped her hands to his shoulders. “Sorry. Petty as it is, we wanted to watch. We were actually hoping for OTK, but we’ll take what we can get.”

He pulled away from her. (Didn’t ask what _OTK_ was; the message was clear enough.). “I’m glad my humiliation amused you.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.” Then she grew serious. “Look: all of us here know what it is to lose what you are. Whether it was taken from you or whether you chose to throw it away.... it’s hard.” Simple and direct. Her sincerity held him more effectively than force would have. “It doesn’t wipe away whatever’s in your past,” she went on, “But it does give you a chance to start something fresh. So: remember that I’m watching you, and if you fuck around I _will_ waste you. But other than that?” She touched him again, this time a clap on the arm. “Relax. You’re among, if not _friends,_ then at least _people who get you._ We all have red in the ledger.”

He didn’t know what to say to her.

“Oh - one more thing.” She smirked at him. “Can I call you Bambi too?”

* * *

**TBC.**

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

He saw them to the elevator, and once it closed he turned and thunked his head against it. “Whew,” he said, looking up at the ceiling. “Glad that’s over.” It had gone better than expected, really. He’d had to let his teammates watch him spank a grown man (grown alien, whatever), which was a little weird, but nobody had gotten shot, or punched, or even reported on. He hoped. “I think they’ll let us alone - I really do. Nice job.”

 _Really_ nice job, now that he thought about it.  Loki had really sucked it up. “Barton’s a dick,” he added. “I don’t think I like him anymore. If I ever did. Was he that bad when you were, you know-” He waggled his fingers by his temple “-Visiting?”

No answer, so he stood straight and looked over. “Hey: Bambi?”

Loki was pacing around the (new, bulletproof) coffee table. Kicking at it softly. “Barton’s antipathy is completely understandable,” he murmured. “So’s the woman’s.” Tony moseyed on over to the couch and sat down, trying to read his face. Was he _actually_ that calm? That all couldn’t have been easy.

“You okay?” he said at last. Loki was frowning, thoughtful, and he couldn’t tell.

“Hm? Oh, of course.” He not-smiled and waved it off. “My pride’s in tatters, but what else is new. Stark...”

He had something he wanted to _say_ , Tony realized suddenly. Hopefully it wasn’t too-...

“About... the window.”

Oh, hell no! Tony jumped up and started clearing dishes from the coffee table. (Because, you know, it wasn’t like he had robots or a _slave_ to do it for him). “Don’t worry,” he said without looking. “I know you’re not going to do it again, because if you do they’ll give you to someone else who’ll more likely club you than take you clubbing. I know you’re not stupid. Crazy, maybe, but not stupid.”

Loki followed him into the kitchen, and stood hovering in the doorway. “Be serious. You know it’s more than just self-interest - don’t you?” Frowning.

Right. The guy that had turned backstabbing into an art form - trust _that_ guy. Right.

“I-, I am-... _Stark_.” Shocked and disappointed, like he couldn’t _believe_ Tony’s silence. “Look at me. Despite what Thor may have told you, I _am_ capable of loyalty to my companions. Come on. I would never-”

“Can we not talk about it?” Tony interrupted, slamming dishes together unnecessarily. “Please? Not now, not ever.”

“Not-? But why? You’re the one who _insisted_ -”

“Because what good would it do!   Unless  Asgard or the North Pole or wherever the hell you’re from has developed a way to retroactively scare the shit back _into_ people. No? Okay then, I _said_ , let it alone.”

Tony hadn’t been so damn generous with the _last_ people who had traumatized him. Maybe this asshole should just shut up and feel _lucky_ that he was getting a pass.

Loki drew back. “As you wish.” He disappeared and Tony stayed in the kitchen for a while, doing dishes so violently he broke three.

He was there until Jarvis said: “Excuse me, sir. Loki is out on the balcony, and he’s climbed up onto the railing.”

* * *

He recognized the tone. Stark rushing manic and agitated, almost angry. He had talked about drowning that way. _Your body freaks out like NO, like you think you can say no, whoa, not cool, time out. But it doesn’t work and you realize that it’s_ _**actually** _ _not going to stop, they’re_ _**actually killing** _ _you and they really don’t care._

It couldn’t be that a simple fall had instilled that same mindless terror - could it? _He_ had fallen from buildings, cliffs, (the Bifrost!), and hadn’t felt any panic.

Though it was different for humans; a fall could kill them. Hm. Idly curious, he swung one leg and then the other over the balcony railing. He sat, gripping tight, and looked down (down, down, _down_ ). The wind tore at him and for a moment it felt glorious, until it occurred to him that if he let go it would be his  _end_. That thought made the world tilt violently, and he spent a long few moments trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

Once he could think again, he thought of the woman's accusation: _You deliberately threw him to his death._ Had he? It was hard to remember what he’d been thinking; his mind had been clouded by rage and the scepter and torture that would make a joke of Stark’s little waterbucket adventures... but he did remember the surge of anger that had made him heave the mortal out. He remembered swearing to himself; he’d planned to _use_ the man, and now he’d be a gore heap on the street below... but - as Stark might say - oh well. It hadn’t bothered him much.

When he imagined doing it _now,_ his stomach twisted. He had a very visceral knowledge of Tony Stark these days; he could imagine it perfectly. Just what it would feel like to push the knife in. Just what the throat would feel like under his hands. Just how much force he’d need to-...

No. He could tell Stark with confidence that he would make no more attempts on his life in future.

Eventually he heard the patio door. Loud, slow footsteps and steady throat-clearing. “Ahem. _Ahem_. Not trying to startle you there, pal. It’s me - Tony. Just here to remind you: this?” Stepping up to the railing, six or eight feet away, and gesturing around. “Nuh-uh. You promised.”

“What?” He frowned. There was no _rule_ about climbing on the balcony - was there?

“You promised no more suicide. I got you a frosty and you drank it; that’s a binding contract. Now get down from there pronto, before I have a heart attack.”

“Oh!” He sat up and stopped leaning out. “No, I didn’t-. It’s not that, not at all.” He kicked back over the railing to stand on solid ground. “See? I just wanted fresh air.” That was mostly true. “Today was...difficult.” _Completely_ true.  “But nowhere near hard enough to make me sorry I'm alive.”

Stark nodded. “Good. Like I said, you were a rock in there. I mean it. Big pat on the back.” He reached out and actually did pat Loki on the back. “We okay?”

“I already told you-...” Then he stopped. _We_ okay, Stark had said. Earlier he’d said _you_. Loki realized suddenly that he _always_ did it that way - asked about Loki’s condition first and only afterwards sought absolution for whatever he’d done to aggrieve. “Of course,” he said absently, still thinking.

“Don’t _of course_ me. I’m serious.”

He shrugged and focused on the question. “You did what had to be done. I’d be stupid not to recognize that, and as you’ve noted, I am not stupid.” Stark still looked a little troubled. Thor could be brought out of dark moods by fighting, but Stark... He reached behind himself to rub, looking as pained and forlorn as possible. “Though it _was_ a very _unfriendly_ paddling,” he whined. “However. I know how you could make it up to me.”

Stark’s face brightened. “Go on...”

“Take me clubbing. I can’t think of any night in recent memory when we’ve been in more dire need of a drink.”

* * *

**[[Few Hours Later]]**

* * *

That night Loki desperately wanted to drink to oblivion and lose himself in some stranger’s embrace. But. It seemed like Stark was seeking oblivion too and was getting there faster, and it was unwise for _both_ them to become incapacitated. In the end he decided against getting hammered, and instead took his drinking slowly, sipping on a cocktail watching Stark get sloppy. 

And brooding. The indignity to which he had been subjected was too much even to remember; he blocked the mortals and their mockery from his mind entirely. _Nice job,_ Stark had said. Shook him by the neck affectionately when the beating was over. _That,_ from Stark, he could accept. The rest he could not.

Eventually he emerged from his thoughts, and saw that his companion had vanished. _Shit._ In this state he could be any where, doing any thing. _Shit._

After what he’d had to drink, though, before he could get into any trouble he’d surely have to go piss first. Loki paid the barkeep (from a wallet Stark had given him) and threaded through the crowd to the bathrooms.

Stark was in the men’s room, leaning heavily on the sinks. A large mortal – muscled but dull, probably a meathead like Thor’s friends – was lounging up against the wall watching him. A second meathead had taken the mirror down off the wall and was balancing it on the sink like a shelf.

On the mirror were little piles and lines of white powder. Stark and a third man – a short, sharper-looking one covered with mock runic markings – stood looking down at it.

His first thought was that they were doing magic. But humans didn’t do magic. So he cleared his throat and demanded: “Tony. What’s that?”

The strangers all jumped, but Stark made a sloppy calming gesture. “Relax – I know him. He’s a hundred percent okay.” A laugh. “Well, at least eighty percent.”

The runed man said to Loki: “Blow.”

“What?” Loki knew _blow_ to be some sort of insult; Stark was always telling people to _blow me_ when he got upset with them.

“Coke,” Stark said. That wasn’t much better, because in Loki’s experience _coke_ was a sweet bubbly drink, but before he could ask again Stark clarified: “Cocaine. Drugs. You arrange it into lines, and you snort it. You want some?”

“Whoa, whoa,” protested the decorated man. “No fuckin freeloaders.”

“Hey. Excuse me.” Stark’s back was up. “I paid for that 8-ball. I can share it with you or him or Barney the Fucking Dinosaur if I want. Don’t tell me what to do.”

The man laughed soft and slow, showing teeth that were _armored._ “You didn’t pay for shit, amigo.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” But then Stark took a breath. Held up his hands. “You know what? It’s not worth it,” he slurred. “What do you want – another hundred bucks? Fine – take it. It’s not worth arguing; I wipe my ass with these. Bambi, we’re clearing out of here.” He took out his wallet and started fumbling with it, and Loki understood enough.

“Tony.” He stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “Did you pay him already?”

Stark shrugged him off clumsily. “Yeah, but whatever. It’s just money.”

“It’s more than that.” If they bowed to this request, what might the man demand next? Besides, given his current situation an insult to Stark was an insult to _him –_ and _he_ would never suffer a mere mortal to cheat and bully him. “I will handle this.” Stark tried to argue, but Loki spread a hand on his chest and pushed him back. (Punishable by death if Stark were so inclined, but surely Stark wasn’t). “How many times do you think I have played out this scene with my brother?” he said quietly. “If there’s an honorable retreat I will find it – and if not, not.”

Incredibly, Stark obeyed him, drawing back with hands raised.

So Loki turned to the decorated man. (He wasn’t really in the mood for retreat.). “Flee now,” he said. “Or I will rip up your body and grind it so fine that your friends can snort you. Perhaps I’ll even try a line myself.”

Stark laughed. The runed man lashed out, but Loki turned the blow aside neatly and smashed the enemy's nose with his forehead.

Then the meatheads got involved. It hardly mattered; they were pathetic and he dispatched them without any trouble even lacking the strength to flip them through the air as he wished. An elbow to the face and a punch to the gut doubled one of them up; a knee to his head finished the job. The second one had to be tripped down by a collar grip, and Loki left him squirming on the floor for Stark to take care of since by now the runed man had recovered and _that_ was who he really wanted. It took half a dozen blows given the weakness of his mortal form, but it wasn’t difficult. “There,” he said afterwards, wiping a bloody forearm on his pants.

Stark was standing on one of the meathead’s wrists. “Drop it,” he said, steely despite his obvious intoxication. “If you bring a knife to this party _you’re_ the one gonna get cut.”

Loki wiped his brow – he’d somehow broken a sweat in those few brief seconds. “Stabbed,” he corrected. “If he has a knife I’ll _stab_ him; it’s so much more satisfying than cutting. Haven’t you ever tried it?” The meathead let go of his weapon.

“Smart boy,” Stark said. Then looked at Loki. “Let’s go.”

On the way home Loki worked his jaw gingerly and cracked his neck. “I’m used to a skull a lot more durable than this. How do you people...?”

“We don’t,” Stark said. “Humans don’t go around smashing shit with our heads. Lemme see that.” He prodded drunkenly and found a spot that was very tender. “That’s gonna be a goose egg,” he said. “You know – a lump.”

“It’s fine.” He had backed Thor in worse fights, for worse reasons, at greater personal cost. And Thor had never bothered to check him by hand for injury afterwards.

And Thor had _definitely_ never bothered to stop the cab to buy him ice cream. “I’d do it again,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate and sprinkles.

* * *

Tony awoke with one of those killer hangovers and Loki taking care of him. “Thanks,” he croaked. “What happened to your head?”

There was a nasty lump at the hairline, but Loki shrugged it off. “Someone was trying to cheat you over a cocaine purchase,” he said coolly. “How much do you remember?”

“Cocaine?” He blinked. “Son of a bitch.” He had _sworn_...

“Yes, yes, I know.” Loki exchanged the damp rag on his forehead for a fresh one. “You swore you were finished with drugs and you’re very upset that you ingested them again last night. You said that already.”

He expected that the memories would come back to him, but in the meantime, it was better to know. “What else did I say?”

“That you wanted me to cane you. Because of the drugs.”

“Oh.” Was Drunk Tony developing a sense of responsibility? Amazing. “Did you?”

“No.” Loki smiled and wiped his face, and the damp cool was heaven. “You said it was time for Drunk Tony to reap what Drunk Tony sows, but I reminded you that Drunk Tony is almost impervious to pain and that in order to teach him a lesson I’d have to leave you bruises like mine from the, you know, bareback incident. Which took weeks to heal.”

“Mm.” He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

“...Of course,” Loki went on, “Now that you’re sober, I will be happy to oblige you.” Tony choked. “Oh yes.  Those drug-snorters you transacted with were unfriendly, unscrupulous, and violent.  You put yourself, and by extension me, in danger.  Didn't you.”

“Fuck, man.” What was he supposed to say to that. “Come on.” Whining was the best he could do.

“Is that a fair characterization of your activities last night, or not?” Loki held out a glass of water. “Answer me.”

“Fuck.” Tony sipped slowly. “Look... yes, okay? Obviously yes. I just-...  Look, I'm not at my most durable right now, okay, and the cane is nasty.”

Loki regarded him seriously for a while. “Do you really think I’m going to abuse you?” he said at last.

“Well there _was_ that time you chucked me through a window...”

But Loki refused to be distracted. “Yesterday I allowed you to strip away my pride and shame me before my enemies – and still I raised a glass with you in friendship. Then when you drank yourself stupid, I carried you over the threshold like a bride - you weigh a ton - and cared for you half the night. What more must I do?”

 _Not beat the crap out of me?_ Sure, he could say that.  If he was a little girl.  “Sorry.  Hangover talking.”

“Mm.” The admission seemed to help; Loki reached out and fussed with his bangs gently. “I think you’ve got cocaine in your hair.” He brought his hand back and rubbed his gums. “Numbness and tingling,” he reported after a second. “The internet is right.”

“The internet is almost always right.” Tony sat up slowly and swung his legs down onto the floor. He was only delaying the inevitable and he knew it. “And drugs are bad. Fine: okay. Let’s get it over with. Just... take it slow, okay?” At least Loki would probably go easy on him, when he looked this awful.

Loki helped him to his feet. “I’ll tap you a few times,” he said, “And then I’ll strike you good and hard – once. That’s it. All right?”

That would be one-fifth as bad as he'd been expecting. He nodded yes.

* * *

Stark braced his arms against the couch. “I’m not bending all the way over,” he said over his shoulder, “Because the world’s already spinning.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes yes, point taken: you’re very hung-over and I should coddle you accordingly.” He picked the cane up off the floor (it was already out, because last night Stark had run around brandishing it and attacking pillows and demanding to be punished forthwith. Perhaps the machines had kept a video). “All right,” he said, pressing lightly with it. “Are you ready?”

“Whoa. Don’t I get a warm-up first?”

Loki sighed. _You’re stalling._ “You don’t need one, but all right.” He put the cane under his arm and spanked by hand instead, eight or ten blows, sharp enough to make Stark jerk and grunt. Then he rubbed for a while, firmly. Slapped another few times, and rubbed again. He was feeling magnanimous; Stark was _obeying,_ cooperating when he truly didn't want to. It was a salve he hadn't even known he'd needed.

Stark let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said at last.

His fear was unwarranted, but Loki didn't mock. “All right,” he said calmly, laying his free hand over the tailbone. “Here comes the cane - but don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you yet.”

“Replace _yet_ with _ever_ and we’re in busin- _eek_.” He wriggled at the first little tap, the first hint of sting.

“See?” Again – lightly. Touching with it first so that there would be no surprise. And again. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Jesus.” Stark waited out a few more taps, and Loki didn’t rush him. Finally he said: “Okay.”

He drew his arm back at once and struck. Hard.

Stark jumped with the impact. Then: “Oh-. Huh, that’s actually not so ba- _AAAAAAAD_ !” He grabbed at himself frantically. “ _OW oh FUCK!_ ”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The pain takes a moment to kick in.” Loki swished the cane through the air, chuckling. “Sorry about that.”

* * *

**TBC...**


	16. Chapter 16

**[Some Time Later]**

* * *

Heimdall had _seen_ something.  About Loki.  Thor was not told what it was, but the Gatekeeper had warned him quietly that Loki’s punishment was not being carried out in the way the Allfather had envisioned and that changes must be made.

“I can tell you that Loki is _learning_ from his punishment,” he argued.  “It is _improving_ him.  Surely that was my father’s goal?”

“I would not presume to know your father’s goals,” Heimdall said calmly.  “All I know is what I saw and what I heard.  I heard that Odin is not pleased.  I heard that Loki will be watched more carefully, and if need be warriors will be dispatched to enforce his sentence.  I heard that if changes are not made, Odin will call the Man of Iron before the throne to answer for his dereliction of duty.”

“Dereliction-...?!”  Thor took a deep breath, imagined Loki’s restraining hand on his arm.  _Careful, brother._ “Are you saying that Stark has a _duty_ to ill-treat my brother?”

“I am saying that the Allfather will not be made mock of by an earthling and a frost-giant.  And - forgive me, Prince - but he is none too pleased with _you_ , either.” 

Thor blinked.  “With _me?_   What have _I_ done?  I am barely allowed to _visit_ Loki, let alone have any say in how he lives.”

Heimdall sighed.  “You have spoken once too often of the Iron Man with approval, it seems.  Odin investigated your words, and concluded that Stark is insolent and you are a fool.”

Thor kept control of his temper.  “Thank you for your honesty, my friend.  Now please open the Bifrost to Earth - at once.”

* * *

Thor’s warning was vague but completely understandable.  They thanked him and sent him on his way... and then Stark drew himself up to order some Changes.  “No more going out,” he said at once. 

“We’re _already_ not going out,” Loki snapped back, “Because of you and your stupid cocaine.  I still don’t see why _I_ had to give up clubbing just because _you_ can’t behave yourself.”  Odin taking an interest in the situation was disastrous; it was much easier to ignore that and bicker over blame instead.

“I’m not the one who started a barfight, okay,” Stark bickered right back.  “And anyway I don’t just mean clubbing.  I mean no going out _at all,_  definitely not by yourself and for a while not even with me, until we think through how to handle this.”

“You- you’ll put me on _house arrest_?” he flared.  “When I haven’t done anything wrong?   And you say _Odin_ ’s the despot!”

“First of all-...”  But Stark caught himself.  Took a deep breath, and glanced up to the ceiling.  “Why don’t you not call Odin names right now,” he said, “Considering we could be under space-surveillance and that kind of shit won’t go over so great.  And while you’re at it why don’t you not yell at me - same reason.”

Loki made himself calm down as well.  “You’re right.  I shouldn’t have raged.  You probably should beat me for it, just in case.”

“Actually... I think I shouldn’t hit you at all anymore.  And you definitely shouldn’t hit me.”

“What- but-, but _why_?”  He tried not to feel panicked.  They had _rules._   They had a _system._   Stark was proposing to change it.   _No._

“Well, because the worst I’ve ever done to you,” Stark explained, “Was about on par with what your dad used to use as routine discipline - when you were a _kid._    So, our normal punishment is really not going to strike him as adequate, is it?  Watching me spank you is probably what made him think we’re _mocking him_ in the first place.”

He resisted.  “Odin’s not stupid.  He knows there’s more to punishment than mere brute force.  This is infantilizing, humiliating... he’ll surely see that.”

Stark crossed his arms.  “Sure it is.  You laugh and screw around mid-spanking.  So do I.  For the record, I wouldn’t have it any other way, but still.  We have to be smart.”

He scowled furiously, but he was out of legitimate arguments.  “Fine.  _For now,_ until we find a way to shield ourselves from Odin’s sight, unless you can bring yourself to really hurt me we’ll _temporarily_ forego physical punishments.  For now.”

“Good.  Thanks.”

He sighed.  “Is there anything _else_ you plan to deprive me of?”

“Uh, no...”  He looked uncomfortable.  “No more _deprivations_ per se, but... there is one more piece of bad news.”

“What?”

“I have to go away this weekend.  I was gonna bring you, but bringing you to Malibu or leaving you run of the house both don’t exactly convey _short leash_ too well, so... we need to do something else.”

He tried to think of some other possible interpretation, but...  “Are you proposing to leave me in a cell.”  He could hardly get the words out.

“What?  No!  Jesus.”  Stark cuffed him in the back of the head.  “How many times do I have to say  _no dungeons,_ Bambi?  No.  What I’m thinking is...”  He bit his lip.  “Remember how you said early on that it’s possible to rent slaves out to people?  I’m thinking I’ll leave you with Nat.  She’s an Avenger, right?  How could your dad object to that?”

* * *

“ _Hey, Loki.  Come here_ .”  Romanoff, from the living room.  It was the first _command_ she had given him.  For three hours now she had had absolute power of life and death over him, and all she had done was show him the guest room and then go sit at her table reading documents.

He rose and went to her swiftly.   Stark had made them _both_ promise to behave themselves, and he would not be the first to breach the peace.  “Yes?”  _...Mistress._   He prayed that she didn’t order him to say it; he would refuse, and there would be a scene, and Stark would be angry.

But all she said was: “Look at this.  You think it’s the same guy?”  She had two large printed photographs out in front of her and she was studying them intently. 

Loki leaned over her shoulder, trying to put aside thoughts of the power currents between them and focus on the question.  “You’re meant to think it is.  Or else this man is very, very much a creature of habit.”  He pointed.  “Same headdress.  Same sunglasses.  Same briefcase.  Same bodyguard.”

She nodded.  “Right.  But I don’t see a watch in this picture, which makes me wonder whether it’s a screwup and he’s got it on the wrong hand.  But I can’t see, so we don’t know.  Basically, I have a lot of suspicions and not a lot of proof, and I need something concrete I can point to if I want anybody to listen.  They say you’re such a good liar, so... what’s your take?”  She craned her neck to look him in the face.  “And quit towering over me.  Sit down on the floor.  If anyone’s watching us, we should give them a show.”

He took the photographs from her - took her whole folder - and spread them out on the carpet.  He supposed she was wise to take steps towards showmanship... but the beer she handed him and the carpet’s fresh vacuum-lines really detracted from the presentation.  _Oh well._ He settled down to study.

It didn’t take him long.  In half an hour he’d compiled a dozen indications that the scenes were staged - and none had a thing to do with the women’s actual target.  That man was an excellent liar; it was his entourage who made the mistakes.  _Isn’t that always the way._   He pointed everything out to her and she wrote nothing down, but he could see her lips moving.  Memorizing.  When he was done she called someone and shamelessly took credit for all of his insights.              

“You’re welcome,” he said, once she hung up.

She nodded.  “Maybe Tony’s not crazy to keep you after all,” she said rudely.  “What else can you do?  He says you cook.”

She was looking him up and down appraisingly, and he was suddenly a little self-conscious about _not_ cooking - and about having precious few other human skills, either.  “I cook macaroni and cheese at four in the morning when we’re drunk,” he said.  “But if you’re hoping for something more refined than that, I’m afraid you’ve been misled.”  She laughed... but he noticed what her eyes were doing: they’d flickered to his lips as he answered.  She was actually paying attention to his words - not joking carelessly.  Why?

He kicked himself.  She was a spy, and she was _spying_ on him.  And now he’d just admitted that Stark routinely took him drinking.  _Shit._

He resolved to be more careful.  “Is that all?  I’ll get out of your hair if you’re done with me.”

“No, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.  That means you shadow me everywhere I go.”  She stood up.

If she were Stark he’d have joked about showering together, but as she was definitely _not_ he just stood up too and gestured for her to lead the way.

“Come on,” she said.  “I’ve got a gym on the roof and I have to work out.  You know how to hold pads?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped.  “Why does everyone forget that I’m _every bit_ as well-trained a warrior as Thor; I’m just not as strong and I lack a magic hammer.”

“Mm.”  He saw her file that away.

Damn spies.  Damn _her._

Still, compared to what she _could_ be doing to him, needling and spying on him really weren’t so unforgivable. 

* * *

**Two Days Later.**

* * *

 “ _I assume by the lack of frantic phone calls that everything went okay this weekend.  But still.  I know it wasn’t easy, and I wanted to say thanks for cooperating, so... here.  This is yours._ ”

Loki saved the mirror for last.  First he reveled in the _feel_ of the leather, the smell, the faint creaking as he moved.

These clothes hadn’t been worn in months.  (They _had_ been laundered, though.  And repaired.  Loki could not fathom why Stark had a reputation for being inconsiderate.).  They felt strange after so long in mortal jeans and suits and sweatpants.

It didn’t take him long to grow accustomed again though; after all he had worn some variation of these leathers for centuries.

He felt _good_ , finally.  Not small or lost or out of his element.  When he finally stepped in front of the mirror, he could even _see_ a change in himself.   His posture was different, his gaze.  And when he smiled, the difference was so profound he laughed aloud.

He had so missed looking like a force to be reckoned with.  He swept down the hall into the living room, all ready to share his good mood...

But when he rapped on the doorframe Stark looked up and froze, swallowed, touched the bracelets on his wrists.  “Well hey there.  Lookit you.”  His voice was tight.  “I sorta thought that getup makes more sense as a keepsake than a fashion choice, but uh, you know.  Whatever floats your boat I guess.”

Once it would have pleased him to engender such fear... but not now.  “Come, stop being silly,” he said, doing his best to sound warm.  Tried to recapture the manner that had Stark comfortable enough to tease him and confide in him and even give him orders.  “Leathers or no, it's still me.”  He understood that first instant of alarm, but surely upon reflection Stark would be able to calm down and force himself to accept.  

“I know that.”  Stark backed against the couch and sat down.

“You do.”  He stepped close, reached down and tapped against the metal chest-machine.  “But not in here.”

“Give me a second.  I’m- I’m working on it, okay?”

That irritated him.  _I trust you,_ he wanted to say.  _Can’t you do me the same courtesy_.  He cast around for some gesture to make, to demonstrate it, but... what was there?  Having Stark hold a knife to his throat would be mere empty theatre, as he had no realistic fear that Stark would hurt him and no great fear of death anyway.

He was more afraid of rejection and ridicule.  But what sort of gesture would put _that_ power in Stark’s hand? 

Hm. He had watched enough television to know that disgraceful photographs were what one used to destroy reputations on earth, and he knew what kinds of behavior would generally strike earth people as disgraceful.  Though giving Stark the power to embarrass him in front of those he cared nothing for wasn’t enough; going the whole distance would mean risking disgust from Thor and Asgard as well.

He thought for a few moments, and several options presented themselves.  Some might not be enough to make his point, others were more than he could stomach.

One, though, seemed singularly perfect.  “Let me help you with that,” he said, and dropped to his knees on the carpet.

* * *

He really couldn’t believe that Loki - not his easygoing Loki-shaped roommate but actualfactual supervillain  _Loki_ \- had just knelt down and made a grab for his pant leg.

“If this won’t convince you I don’t know what will,” Loki said, and started untying his laces.

“Oh-.  Shit.”  He squirmed a little in his seat, because now that he saw where this was going there was something decidedly _off_.

“Relax,” Loki ordered, sounding bored.  “It would not be the first unintentional erection between us.  I’ll ignore it if you will.”

His shoes and socks tickled coming off, and he squirmed even more.  “Dick,” he muttered.  Now that he was worrying about it, of _course_ an inappropriate boner was heading his way.

When the massage started he stopped complaining and almost died of happiness instead.  Happiness and amazement - the guy might get a little huggy when drunk, and had no problem carrying around a drunk buddy, but usually required personal space of about twelve feet when sober.

He realized his eyes were closed and opened them-... and tensed when what he saw was _Loki_ , armored and dangerous.

“It’s just me.”  Without breaking rhythm.  “I’m not going to harm you.  It is absolutely not on the table.”  He switched feet, started again.  (And Tony groaned and melted into the couch - supervillain or not, the guy had _skills_.)  “And I'm willing to provide assurances.  Jarvis?  Please take some photographs.  Of this.”

Tony sat up straight.  “Dude I totally would have shaved this morning,” he protested, clowning reflexively to get a few more seconds to think.

“You did shave this morning.”  Loki didn’t look up from what he was doing.  “Jarvis?  Can you?”

“Yes sir, I can.  With Mr. Stark’s permission.”

He looked down.  Loki was quiet and determined... and wearing his supersuit, which made him strangely hard to refuse.  “Um.  Okay.”

Loki kept working.  When Jarvis told him that his face wouldn’t be visible to the camera unless he brushed his hair back on his left side, he did it immediately.  Then he bowed down all the way, forehead to carpet.  Then, taking the cake, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Tony’s ankle.

_There are perverts who would pay **so much money** to see this._  

“There, that should be sufficient.”  Loki sat back on his heels.  “You know my pride,” he said quietly.  “I think you can imagine what it would do to me if anyone saw me in such positions of servitude before a mortal.”

He would literally physically die of embarrassment.  (And Barton, for one, would die laughing).  “Encryption and storage protocol fourteen, Jarvis.”

Loki nodded and stood up.  Brushed himself off.  “I think I’m going to go change now,” he said.  Light and breezy.  “I have work to do, and leather sticks to my computer chair.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**We are nearing the end-ish.  I think we’re about 3/4 of the way done.  (I did at one point have the whole story drafted, but it somehow evolved over the course of posting, so now we’re not where I’d originally expected to be.  So I can’t say for sure.).  Let me know what you think so far!**


	17. Chapter 17

**[Month Or So Later]**

* * *

Loki was getting bored. Romanoff was late, he had long since finished with his work and wasn’t in the mood to play on his computer. He’d been hoping to convince Stark to take him to a sports game tonight; he’d been reading about them and had come to know that it was supposed to be one of the favored forms of entertainment among mortal men. It didn’t sound like something he would like... but then again, neither did much of Midgard but plenty of things had pleasantly surprised him already.

Time was passing. If Romanoff was going to be so late she usually warned him first, so after an hour he called her to check. The woman answered on video – and he could see that she was bloody, exhausted, out of breath. “Hey, Loki, what’s up.”

He hated to disturb her under such conditions... but surely she wouldn’t have answered the call if she were still in danger? “Everything all right? I don’t mean to rush you, but aren’t you supposed to pick me up tonight?”

A look of annoyance crossed her face. “Stark hasn’t called? I let him know this afternoon that things here are a little more  _ involved _ than I’d expected and I won’t be back in the city til tomorrow. He said somebody could cover.”

Loki called Stark next. “Romanoff’s in the middle of some sort of battle,” he reported. “I’m bored and hungry, and in a few moments I’m going to start spamming your business contacts with Viagra emails to amuse myself. Can you come get me?”

There was a silence. “Shit.  _ Shit, _ ” Stark said at last. “I’m in my workshop, I lost track of time. I can’t leave it right now, I’m –  _ ah! _ – Ow. I’m in the middle of something. Okay, I need to hang up before I get electrocuted. Call Steve, see if he can do it.”

Loki hated calling Rogers. Rogers didn’t like him, which perhaps was understandable, but also seemed to  _ despise  _ him – and was much too perfect to warrant despising in return. It was like dealing with all the worst parts of Thor, and none of the best.

But what else was he going to do? If he insisted that Stark spoil his experiment to come and pick him up from work, then Stark would begin regretting allowing him an office away from the tower. And he did  _ not  _ want to lose that privilege; having a space he called his own and a place to  _ go  _ every day made him feel more like a person than a houseplant. Also, it was good for any spying Asgardians to see him shut up alone in a tiny “cell” (he had done the decor himself) for hours each day. Most importantly, walking around outside by himself, even though he never strayed further than around the block so that he was always within spitting distance of the building he was confined to, felt fantastic.

But being trapped there was not nearly so fantastic; now he wanted to go home. For a moment he toyed with the idea of leaving on his own and taking the subway; it would definitely be more convenient and less uncomfortable for everyone.

_ No.  _ Tensions were high enough at home already; since Stark yet didn’t have a reliable way of shielding the tower from sight they were both twitchy and irritable and had no way to blow off steam. The last thing he wanted was to make himself even more of a trial.

He called Rogers. “Captain. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but-”

“I know. Stark and Romanoff both called me already. I’m on my way. Do not – I repeat – _do not_ leave your office until I get there. Do you copy?”

He swallowed down a snarl. None of this was Rogers’s fault. “Yes. I copy.”

Rogers arrived in street clothes, his handsome face blank as ever. Loki couldn’t even tell if he was put out or not, so he decided not to apologize yet again. He just waited as Rogers found the scroll in the top drawer, checked his watch for the time, and signed Loki out like a library book. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He killed the lights, locked the door behind them and followed Rogers to the elevator.

It was something, at least, that he knew Rogers wouldn’t lay a hand on him. Stark had demanded a promise that Loki be delivered “as-is” whenever he was taken from place to place, and Rogers was too ridiculously honorable to break a promise.

* * *

Tony almost got electrocuted  _ again  _ when a sharp knock on the doorway surprised a jump out of him. “Ahem.”

“Steve get you home okay?”

“Evidently.”

Loki was too polite – it made him nervous, and he started to babble. “I’m almost done, I swear. Anyway I thought you’d be up in the kitchen eating the  _ three dozen  _ pastries I ordered for you.”

“I’m about halfway through.” Still too... easy. “Want one of these hazelnut eclairs?” Before he could decline on the grounds of being gloved and elbow-deep in electronics, he smelled cream and suddenly an eclair was right in front of his face.

_ Feeding by hand  _ was right up there with  _ foot massage  _ on the list of Creepy Jobs Tony Stark Would Never Impose on an Unwilling Partner, but Loki was offering and it did smell really, really good. He ate the whole thing in one bite. Didn’t comment when Loki wiped cream off his lip.

“How is it?”

“Mmm. ‘Ud.” The best he could do; his mouth was ridiculously full.

“Good.” Loki’s voice was a purr. “Now... I hear there’s some good news. Care to share it?”

“Some-? _Seriously_?!” He stomped as best he could without moving. “It was a secret! I can’t believe a _team of spies_ can’t keep a secret secret for like five minutes!”

“I can be very persuasive.  Anyway, only Romanoff is a spy,” Loki added, “And she didn’t tell. The rest of you meatheads wouldn’t know a secret if one kicked you. Now: show me.”

He’d planned to unveil the shield with something spectacular. Maybe hire some strippers in a cake, and when they jumped out with a  _ Fuck Odin  _ sign and Loki got all horrified because what if daddy was watching, he’d say-...

Wait, no. Strippers  _ and a reindeer. _ They had those, right? If you could get them for a petting zoo you could probably get them for a stripper cake.

But it didn’t matter now, since Rogers and his big mouth had spoiled the surprise already. He withdrew from what he was doing - carefully - and hung his equipment back up.

“Yes, the damn Death Star is fully operational,” he growled. “I’ll install a manual switch too, but in the meantime: Jarvis? Cloak us.” He waited a moment, head cocked, and there was a faint mechanical whine. “There: the tower is officially a blur to spies from space.”

“Excellent.” Loki was bouncing with excitement. “Then come on upstairs. Let’s have champagne to celebrate.”

Getting their privacy back really  _ was  _ cause for celebration. Tony followed him and went into the fridge-...

But the champagne was empty.

“Oh,” Loki said, wearing the fakest look of consternation Tony had ever seen. “Oh dear. What a terrible shame; it seems we’re out. Maybe we should just drink orange juice instead.”

He rolled his eyes and tried the orange juice, and (surprise, surprise!) it was empty too. “Dude.  _ Really _ ?”

Milk, juice, ice cream, and champagne. He lined the empty containers all up on the counter. “Five, ten, fifteen, twenty,” he counted, hands on his hips. “You know... you could always just...?”

_ Ask?  _ Loki arched eyebrows at him.

“Fair enough.” They’d always been quite clear about how nobody around here is a kinky freak thank you very much. He sighed. “Did I miss anything?”

Totally straight face. “You might want to check that tub of butter on the door.”

The guy was willing to  _ eat butter  _ to earn himself a spanking. That was commitment.  “Okay, twenty-five it is. Want to do it now?” He kept a straight face, too. “Or are you planning to chow down on the pickles and jelly first?”

“I haven’t ruled them out for later, but I think I’ve broken sufficient rules for the moment. Cane or paddle?”

He headed for the cabinet while Loki unbuttoned. “I’ll be nice this time. But be warned: if you drink the last beer, I will be caning you until you cry.”

Loki laughed. “You’ll notice the beer survived today’s raid; I do have  _ some  _ sense of self-preservation.”

“Clearly.” Tony took him by the back of the neck and folded him over. “Ready?”

* * *

He’d had cause to feel grateful towards Stark for many things over the past few months, but this was near the top of the list. He had all but  _ begged the man to beat him _ , a request he cringed almost too hard even to admit to himself, a request all the more silly and humiliating because he couldn’t have explained it if he’d wanted to... and Stark took it completely in stride. No cruelty, no mocking; he just laughed the matter off as if it was of no consequence whatsoever and hit him exactly hard enough to set his body buzzing.  


“Better without an audience, no?” Stark said, and he realized then that Stark hadn’t laid a hand on him since that awful scene in front of his friends.

But he was able to keep that misery out of his mind, and just enjoy what was before him (behind him). “Much.” He rocked with the blows, riding out what sting there was, wishing he had taken the time to empty a few more containers.

“That’s halfway,” Stark said at length. Pinched him lightly. “Doing all right?”

“Halfway?” he teased. “And here I thought you were still warming up.”

Stark chuckled. “Mouth off again - I dare you.”

“Oh, I’m very frightened now. Pardon me while I nap a few moments, let me know when you’re ready to- _OH!_ ” He shouted, but mostly with surprise. By now Stark was so practiced that he could make a loud noise with very little pain.

“I’m sorry, Bambi - didn’t catch that. What’d you say?”

It was hard to believe that once upon a time he wouldn’t have been able to hear that Stark was joking. He turned to flip him off cheerfully, then resumed position and waited for the rest.

After the blows were done he made the ritual apology, then made himself add: “And thank you.”

“Mm.” Stark’s hands sketched out a square on his back. “They should put it in your care instructions.” He pretended to write. “Needs: sugary foods. Cool place to sleep. Bi-weekly spankings.”

He stiffened.  _ Cool place to sleep,  _ did he mean-...?

No. On reflection, he decided Stark had tossed the comment off without any hidden meaning beyond that he knew Loki liked to eat sweets and sleep in the cold.

It was good of him to know that, actually. No one in Asgard seemed to. Dinner had rarely consisted of anything he wanted and his rooms were always ten degrees warmer than he liked them and Thor was always inviting him to camp outdoors in the summer. (And no one, obviously, had ever offered to beat him except in an effort to make him miserable.).

“Hey - relax, Bambi, I’m kidding.” Stark unhanded him and moved away. “You okay?”

He rose and fixed his pants. “Yes. I just-... Yes.” He didn't say anything more; whining with self-pity was embarrassing. “I’m going to get a drink. Not the last beer, don’t worry,” he promised, and escaped into the kitchen.

... But Stark followed him. “Bambi. Hey.” Loki scowled over his shoulder; they  _ never _ failed to honor each other’s sudden retreats. What was he doing?

“I, uh, hope I didn't piss you off with the _care instructions_ thing. I was just-, I wasn’t thinking. You know me.”

He could see, on reflection, how the comment might offend. Might have offended  _ him,  _ even, in times past. But it seemed he had developed some tolerance for Stark’s careless teasing. “No no, it wasn’t that.” He would have preferred to toss off a glib little joke for reassurance but he couldn’t think of one quickly enough, so he just admitted: “You didn’t annoy me. I was actually thinking that I like you.”

Stark blinked. “Yeah, well I can see how that would be annoying in its own right.”

* * *

** TBC. **

**End of the week is looking pretty rough for me, but I should be able to get the next part up over the weekend. We really are getting near the end.  Let me know what you think!**

 


	18. Chapter 18

**[[Not Long Afterwards]]**

* * *

Thor landed on Stark's terrace and knocked at the glass doors.  Waiting for admittance instead of just marching wherever he pleased was one of the mortal customs that had taken some getting used to, but if Loki could re-order his behavior so completely then surely it was not beyond Thor to observe a few small rules of politeness.

Stark eventually came and slid the door open for him.  “Hey, buddy.” 

He had rehearsed what he needed to say, and wanted to get it out as soon as possible.  “Man of Iron,” he said.  “It has been a full year that my brother has been living in your custody.” 

Stark's brow creased.

“My father would now like to invite you to Asgard to discuss him.”

At that, Loki appeared at Stark's elbow.  “Invite,” he repeated, wary.

Excellent - _he_ would surely understand the subtext of the message even if Stark did not.  “That is what he said.”

An  _invitation_ was not as dire as it might have been; if the situation were truly grave Odin would have  _commanded your presence_ or event sent warriors down to take him by force.  But still.

Loki was properly wary.  “Thor: give us a couple of days, all right?” he said - placing a hand on Stark's arm as if to restrain him.  “Don’t go back to Odin just yet.  Stark needs to know what he’s getting into; we can’t have him just march into the Allfather’s presence and start running that mortal mouth of his.  Think what would happen.”

“Hey.”  The man shrugged free.  “I can keep my mortal mouth shut when I need to.”  He was petulant and childish; he could not have made Loki's point any more clearly if he were trying.

“Of course,” Thor said.  “I'll speak to you about it in a few days.”  He would have liked to remain and visit with his brother, but since he hadn't really been invited to do so, in accordance with the Midgard rules of politeness he took his leave.

* * *

Returning to Asgard had, at one time, been something Loki thought he would give almost anything to do.  He’d toyed a few times with the idea that a failed suicide attempt would almost certainly do the job; he would be taken back to be healed before being sentenced to spend his life somewhere worse than earth.  Eventually though, he’d made himself accept that homesickness for somewhere that wasn’t home and someone that wasn’t his mother was pathetic, and he’d made himself abandon the idea. 

But now it had fallen into his lap.  Back to Asgard... with Stark.

It had the potential to go horribly wrong, of course.  Especially if Stark couldn’t conform to Asgard’s customs and behave as expected. 

His ability to do that was doubtful at best.  He wasn’t as rigidly moralistic as Captain America (and bizarrely was _sensitive_ about that; as if he thought Rogers’ bullheadedness was a _virtue_!), but still he had occasional moments of stubbornness, where he proclaimed that he was “putting his foot down” and “doing the right thing,” and he could be incredibly hard to move during those times.

Suddenly Loki had a brilliant idea.  A plot he’d been tossing around in his mind idly, a bit too serious to qualify as a harmless prank, was the perfect solution.  He could put Stark to the test: could he take orders even when they offended his conscience?  Could he credibly play the oppressor in front of Odin, or was he too soft?

“It’s likely everything will be fine,” he said calmly, “But there is also a non-zero chance we’ll fuck it up badly enough to get me killed.  So.”  He grinned.  “In case these are my last few days on earth, I want you to fulfill as many of my outstanding entertainment requests as possible.  Are you working tomorrow?  If not, we surf.”

Stark scanned the ceiling - mentally reading his calendar, transparent as ever.  “Ach, sorry.  Can’t.  I’m showing stuff in the afternoon and I need to do it in person.”

“That’s annoying.  Very well...if you’re not occupied until tomorrow afternoon, then tonight we rave.”

Stark winced.  “Rave?”

“I’ve never done it and it looks like fun.  I want it all: flashing necklaces, shoes that glow in the dark, funny hair, one of those neon mesh halos they wear on their hips.  Everything.”

Stark frowned.  “Mesh...?  You mean a _tutu_?”

As he’d expected, the demand for a tutu distracted Stark entirely.  They argued about it for several minutes, and by the end Stark had forgotten to argue with him about going in the first place.

* * *

Tony woke up retching.  Worst smell ever.  He looked around and discovered he was passed out next to a dumpster - _sleeping against a fucking dumpster_ \- and it was so disgusting he really did throw up.

Dry-heaved, at least.  Nothing came up.  His mouth was dry, cottony.  There was a half-empty bottle of water beside his hand that was smeared with pink paint that he vaguely remembered.

Shit.  Fuck.  In the last few months he had gotten blackout drunk more times than he had in all the five years prior.  Loki was a terrible influence. 

He looked around... and found the terrible influence passed out across the alley (against an actual _wall_ , not trash.  Asshole.).  In a tutu.

“Hey,” he croaked.  He crawled the few feet necessary to nudge.  “Wake up.”

Loki’s eyes fluttered open.  “Where are we?”

He didn’t know, but surely last night’s shitshow had eventually gotten broken up and they didn’t appear to be arrested.  “Far enough away from the venue - no cops, no robbers.  We win.”

Loki smiled at him.  “You all right?”

“Better than you, Bambi.”  He jerked his head at the ensemble; no energy to point.  “Workboots yes.  Ripped jean shorts yes.  Mesh shirt yes, since you have nothing else handy.  But tutu no.  Definitely no.  Take it off.”

“But I like the tutu.”  Loki scraped his way up the wall until he was standing, then shimmied out of it.  “Fine.  It’s seen better days anyway.  Is Ecstasy always like that?”

Son of a bitch.  “ _Ecstasy_?”

Loki chuckled.  “And how.  You don’t remember?”

“Not a damn thing.  Shit!  You let me-...?”

“Let you?”  Loki gave him a dark look.  “ _Unbunch those panties and chill the fuck out_ ,” he recited, “ _That’s an order._ ”

Son of a _bitch._   “Did I really...?”

“Yes.  Now we should get home.  The city is waking up, and we are not wearing daytime clothes.”

* * *

They went home and cleaned up.  They weren’t in too bad shape overall, as Loki had monitored the drinking and dosed the drugs very conservatively.  The internet really _did_ know almost everything; he’d been able to lower Stark’s inhibitions enough to make the pills seem like a good idea, but hadn't made him cruelly sick.  He had a phone full of photographs, so Stark’s amnesia wasn’t a problem - and was helpful, really, since now he would never be able to figure out how completely Loki had masterminded the whole evening.  (And he’d never remember that Loki was flat-out lying about how the pills had happened.  _That’s an order._   He was absurdly proud of himself for managing to say it without hesitation, eye contact and everything.) 

After Stark’s afternoon business meeting, once they were both feeling mostly recovered, Loki showed off his photos.  “It was fantastic,” he said.  “And I really enjoyed the Ecstasy; I’ve never felt anything like it and likely never will again - hm?”

“Never,” Stark glowered.  “Not on my watch.  The last - absolute fucking _last_ \- thing we need is to end up in a police station because we got busted, or a hospital because you OD’d.  For all we know human drugs could have been poisonous for you!”

He had no illusions about the real cause of Stark’s anger; things were progressing exactly as he’d expected.  He sighed and stopped expressing any amusement.  “I know, I know.  You don’t like drugs.  I’m sorry.  It was my fault we even went there.” 

“No!  No, it was not your fault.  No.  That was on _me_ ,” he said firmly.  “I mean Jesus, right?  What kind of grownup-...  Jesus.”  He passed a hand over his face.  “I suck.”

“Mm.  Well, we’ll handle it,” Loki said briskly.  “This calls for the cane, I think.  When you’re ready.”

“ _Jesus._ ”

“Five strokes this time.  Drugs are bad, as you’ve said many a time, and milder punishment clearly hasn’t been incentive enough to avoid them.”

Stark fussed and swore, but put up no real argument.  They went into the living room and Loki got the cane out.

...And then handed it over.  “Five strokes - which I will take in your place.  Go on.”

* * *

It was diabolical, really.  A plot worthy of an evil supervillain.  (A self-destructive, masochistic, nose-cutting for face-spiting evil supervillain, but whatever.).

Tony argued for a while.  But Loki pointed out, correctly, that the criminal never gets to choose his own punishment.  Then he tried begging.  Loki ignored that.  He asked why, and Loki only shrugged and said: “ _I_ never got to ask why, did I?”

Finally he had the bright idea of just agreeing and closing the matter with just a couple ceremonial taps.  But then, once Loki was depantsed and lying over the arm of the couch, the bastard turned and said over his shoulder: “I’m only counting real strokes, of course, so save us some time and strike hard.”

“Oh come _on_!” 

“Do it,” Loki said.  “We have rules; I now invoke them.  It’s a punishment, remember?  You’re not _supposed_ to like it.  Go on.”

“Is this some kind of test?” he guessed finally.  The irritation that crossed Loki’s face told him that he was right.  Aha.

Well, he did hate to fail tests.  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll do it.  But it’s my fuckup, not yours, so you can say stop any time you want.  Not that you can’t always do that,” he added, because it should go without saying that only an asshole wouldn’t respect a safeword, but with Asgardians you never knew, “but I mean this time in particular, if you want out, then for God’s sake open your mouth and say so, and it’s fine, no sweat at all.  Okay?”

“Okay.”

He gave a couple of delicate taps to psych himself up, and then hit.  Reasonably hard-ish.

“No,” Loki said immediately, “Not good enough.  It should hurt.”

 _There is no way that that didn't hurt._ But fine.  “Okay, He-Man.  How's this?” he said, and really _went for it._

Loki sucked in his breath.  “Yes, that’s about right.  Like that.  _Oh-_.  Damn.”  The pain took a moment to kick in, he remembered.  (Tried not to think about it, though.  Getting all sympathetic would only make Loki sneer.).

He gave it a second before asking: “Ready?”  

“Yes.  But do me a favor,” Loki said.  “That one was a little high.  Would you mind covering-...?  So I don’t have to worry about it.”

Tony frowned.  It was _not_ high; he could see the line darkening already.  Still, he couldn’t blame the guy for wanting a little friendly touch to help get through the _burning fucking misery_ of a caning.  “Sure, sorry.  There.”  He laid his hand flat over the tailbone and went on.

Loki didn’t complain about anything else.  Really didn’t seem to be having any trouble.  But still, as soon as it was over, Tony helped him up and apologized like hell.

“It’s fine,” Loki said, touching himself gingerly.  “You are forgiven.  And I promise I’ll watch you better from now on; no more drugs.  I’ll pay attention.”

“Thanks.”  He could see the tiny flinch as Loki pulled pants up.  “Shit - I’m really sorry.”

“Enough.  I said I’m fine; you swing like a girl.”  Loki cocked his head.  “Are _you_ all right?”

“Me?”

“You.”

What a refreshing change - almost sounded like Loki giving a crap!  He sighed.  “Yeah.”  A little sulky, but whatever.

“Good.  Are _we_ all right?”

He was pissed, but more at himself for getting into the mess in the first place.  “You’re mean and devious and I hate you... but yeah.”

He spent the next couple of hours wondering what went on in the crazy god’s crazy head, but by bedtime he had his answer.  “Sir,” Jarvis said,  “I thought you might like to see this: Loki just asked me for information, about you.  As it was not information you appeared to be trying to keep from him, in accordance with your prior instructions I answered his questions.”

Uh-oh.  “Play it, Sam.”

The video was of Loki in the bathroom, naked, twisting around to look at his rear in the mirror.  “Jarvis.  You once told me you’re trained to divine Stark’s emotions and intentions by listening to his voice.  Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.  Then please review your footage from the beating this afternoon and tell me what he was feeling.”

Tony snorted.  _What, like I wasn’t clear enough?_   “What did you tell him?  Two-second summary.”

The video vanished.  “Concern.  Reluctance.  Guilt.  A few brief moments of resentment.  He wanted to know whether you were actually as calm as you’d sounded, and I said nearly so, judging by the rate of your breathing.”

“What’d he think of that?”

“I can only interpret Loki’s emotions with about fifty percent accuracy, sir, and I can’t reliably detect when he is deceiving me.  With that caveat, I would say: he seemed satisfied.”

Half an hour later his phone buzzed.  _LOKI CALLING._   Hm.  He answered right away.  “Where are you?”

“Here,” Loki sounded drowsy, “But in a bubble bath.  Stark.  Listen: I’ve thought carefully.  The risks are huge, but the risks of refusing are greater.  We’re going to Asgard.”

 _In other words, that’s what your little test was about, and I passed._   Asshole! 

“I hope it hurt,” he said.

But Loki just laughed.  “By all means tell yourself that.” 

* * *

**TBC.**

**Sorry this one took so long!  RL acted up unexpectedly.  Should be able to return to regular updates now.**


	19. Chapter 19

A/N:  Arrg, this one turned heavy!  Sorry.

**[The Next Morning]**

* * *

 

The next morning, Loki jumped him with a request even stranger than a rave.  “I want to go to church.”

At first he thought it was a joke. 

“I know in your heart you worship at the altars of booze and of science,” Loki pressed, “but _they_ would not understand that.”  He jerked his head skywards.  “You must have been born to a religion, no?  Tell me what it is so I can study it.  You should have forced me to convert as a matter of course; if the topic comes up in Asgard I’ll have to fake it.”

Made sense, he supposed - and, with the way he had been living lately, maybe this was a good time to try and get right with God again.  _Hey, and how many congregants have ever actually brought another god in the flesh to hear a mass?  Extra credit for Tony Stark._

So they went... but Loki didn’t seem too impressed.  “The music was all right, but I like techno better,” he said afterwards.  “Does it ever work?”

“Does what work?”

“The ceremony at the end.  Which is _not_ actually a sacrifice,” he added.  “In a sacrifice the food should be given to the god.  The worshippers aren’t supposed to eat it all up.”

“Yeah, I’ll call the Pope and let him know you said so.”  Then he blinked.  “And when you say _work_...?”

“Does the god ever come?  Or transform it from afar, or whatever it is you’re praying for?”

Tony started to explain that transubstantiation was something you were supposed to believe in but not actually expect to physically _see,_ but he’d only gotten a few words in when Loki waved it off boredly.  “I thought that was it,” he said, “Because nobody looked disappointed when nothing happened.”  Then he added: “ _I_ was disappointed.  Is that really the most sacred place you have?  New York has such intensity everywhere else, but that was weak.”

He was sort of offended on New York’s behalf.  _Weak?_   “The most sacred place,” he repeated.  Thinking.  “New Yorkers don’t all worship the same gods,” he said, but there had to be _something._ Someplace with hallowed halls, hushed whispers, bowed heads.  Someplace that gave you goosebumps, someplace you had a spiritual experience and shared it with the people around you.  Hm.

So they went to the World Trade Center memorial.  He had to explain what it was, which was a little difficult and surreal, and then he mostly waited outside while Loki explored.

Loki came out looking tense and quiet.  Tony made a bet with himself on how long it would take him to _ask_... and Loki exceeded all expectations by saying it before they’d even reached the subway.  “Stark.  Is there also...?”

“Yep.” 

“Have you been?”

“Nope.  Not since it opened.”  He’d consulted a little in the planning, but by the time the place was open for visitors he was actually friends with the guy whose carnage was the subject of the exhibit, and showing up to pay respects felt a little dishonest.  “It’s only temporary, anyway.  More of a museum than a monument.  Getting actual memorials together takes a lot of committees and planning and all that kind of stuff.  Why - do you want to go?”

“I think I should.”

It made sense, Tony decided.  When Odin asked what they did last weekend, it would be better to recount this than say they’d gone clubbing.  “Okay, but I’m not going in there either,” he said.  “I saw all that shit once, and once is enough.”

They took the subway there and he led Loki to the entrance.  Loki paused in the doorway, legs spread and shoulders squared, and Tony got a chill - not the good kind.  “Hey.  Gimme that coat,” he said.  “You can’t wear that in there; someone might recognize you.”

“What?”  he twisted to look over his shoulder.  “I bought this in an ordinary Earth store.”

Like he was being willfully stupid.  “You bought it because it reminded you of your creep suit,” he snapped, “And it’s going to remind everyone else too.  The fact that _Loki_ is now out touristing around the city is an insult to all the people who died, and I’m not going to let you rub it in.  Coat.”  He gestured for it.

Loki peeled it off without a word, shoved it at him, and went inside.

This time he was in there for hours.  When he came out, he was even tenser and quieter than before and all he said was: “Can we not talk about it?”

For right now, Tony was more than happy to not.  “Sure.  Let’s eat, and then go home so you can help me pack my suitcase.  We’re about to go meet your parents, and I have literally no idea what to wear.”

* * *

Loki appreciated Stark’s cooperation in lightening the mood... but the question of what to wear really wasn’t that light a question.  It would determine what impression they gave Odin, which would determine quite a lot of the rest.  As soon as they got home he went with Stark to his room, and plunked down on the bed to look at his options. 

The rumpled, unmade bed.  “Don’t you have some machine that could make your bed for you?” he complained. 

“Yeah, smart guy: you.  So watch it.”

He snorted and moved some of the pillows out of the way so he could sit more comfortably.  “No,” he said at once, as Stark opened out a wall of suits.  “Not a business suit.  You need to impress.”

“Suits _are_ for impressing; that’s my _respectable_ look.”  He sounded offended, almost hurt.

He sought a polite way of informing the man that Odin would not give any portion of a shit about what Earth people thought looked respectable.  “Odin’s interest is in you as a warrior, not a businessman.”  There - that should work.  “You can’t wear your battle armor into his presence, but you need to look strong and confident.  Not... slick.”

“Kay.  What do you suggest - toga?  Hit a costume shop and get me a viking hat?”

He couldn’t resort to a cliche like _be yourself,_ but really, that was what Stark had to do.  “People who are most themselves dressed in skins, appear before Odin in skins.”

“I am not going to show up in front of your dad in my smiley-face boxers, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

He chuckled - Stark lounging around in his smiley-face boxers always made him feel affectionate.  He could count on one hand the people who had ever felt comfortable enough in his presence to forego both clothing and dignity.

“The boxers are fine as long as you put something over them,” he said.  “Let’s start simple: black on bottom, and a shirt that shows off your jewel.”

“Stop saying _jewel_ ; I’m not a Care Bear.”  Whatever that was.  But Stark dressed himself as requested.  “What?” he said, frowning at Loki in the mirror.

“Nothing.  Turn around, let me see.”  What was troubling him was Stark’s physique - which was fine, in his personal opinion, but not what Odin would expect of a warrior.  The shirt was helpful - it showed off what muscle he had; _lean_ was better than _skinny_.  (Something Thor had told him a hundred thousand times, and he had resolutely ignored).  “It’s better than a business suit, but you’re still not... warlike enough.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

He could hear some irritation in Stark’s voice now, but that was not surprising.  Nobody liked to have their clothing choices denigrated.  “Mm.  Well at least put some boots on, lover.  Leather and metal if you have them.”

“Yes _sir_ , your Imperial Majesty, sir.  These?”

“Yes.  Those are fine.”

“Good, because these are the most _warlike_ boots I have.  If by _warlike_ you mean, appropriate for use in an S&M dungeon.”

Should he pretend not to know what that was?  He let it pass.  “I think you’re still missing something.” 

Stark crossed his arms. “About thirty pounds of muscle and a battle axe, if I’m hearing you right.”

Loki laughed.  “Welcome to my world.”  He thought back to his own preferred Asgardian attire.  Breastplate to mask the lack of a barrel chest, a coat with shoulders much wider than his own.  Accents of gleaming metal, armor and the suggestions of it.  He might have looked small, next to Thor... but he’d never looked _vulnerable._

Stark did.  He lacked even the most basic-...

“I’m an idiot,” Loki realized aloud.  “Wait here.”

He went to his room, to his closet, to the hanger all the way on the right and the box beneath.  He hated to think of handing any of it over... but it, like him, really did already belong to Stark anyway.  More, he _hated_ to think of what Stark was going to say - _creep suit_ had hurt, all the more because Stark had tossed it off unthinkingly without any malice. 

He took out just the vambraces, and hurried back to Stark’s room before his determination ran out.  “Here,” he said roughly.  “I know you don’t like it, but this is the right thing to wear.  Just suck it up.  I’m sure they won’t _pollute_ you in the couple of minute you need to be in Odin’s presence; you can take them off as soon as you’re done.”

He didn’t realize until afterwards what _venom_ dripped from his words.  “Hey,” Stark said, frowning.

“Never mind.  Sorry.”  He tried to resume composure.  “Just wear them.  This is how you put them on - give me your hand.”

“Whoa.”  Stark yanked free.  “Hold it.  Bambi.  Look at me.”

He couldn’t.

“I’m not an idiot.  I know what your armor means to you - and I didn’t say I thought it was going to _pollute_ me.”

The tone was too much: too soothing, too _caring_ \- too false.  “Spare me,” he sneered.  “Even my _name_ is an insult on your lips, Stark.  You think I don’t notice that you never use it?”  _Creep suit._ The worst was that he’d only managed to feel offended for a few seconds; as soon as he’d walked into the shrine and seen the artifacts, the pictures, the weeping humans who bore his scars, he’d known that all camaraderie notwithstanding Stark must hate him.  And that it was completely justified. 

He realized in horror that his cheeks were hot and his chest tight.  Now he was in danger of _tears._   In front of his enemy. 

Never.  He would die first.  He turned around and tried to breathe.

“Loki.  _Loki_ , hey.”  Stark was trying to tug him around by the shoulder; he shrugged the touch off.  “Come on.  Hey.”

“ _Stop it,_ ” he hissed, and at least the grabbing ceased. 

But Stark still didn’t go away.  “Look, okay, that’s not fair.”  Fair!  “I never said that.  I admit there’s some tension, you know, with us being friends and you being you, but that doesn’t mean-... I mean... I’m not Steve, okay?  I don’t judge.  Or even if I do, I can like you anyway.”

Harsh laughter bubbled up before he could control it.  “Stark, you don’t have to justify yourself.  Least of all to me.”  He took a deep breath and this time it felt smooth, so he turned around.  “Now, enough with the sentiment.  Will you wear a piece of my armor, or not?”

“Yes I will,” Stark said right away - prim and almost challenging.  “I would be honored.”

“Give me your hand.”  _And shut up._

Stark did as he was told, and watched while he was buckled in.  “Cool.”  He gave his other hand when ordered, then held one up to the light.  “Huh.  Fits.”

He’d wondered a few times whether Stark had played dress-up with his things, and was glad to know that until now they had been undefiled.  “These are on loan,” he said.  “So don’t destroy them or misplace them or lose them in a drunken bet, hm?”

He hoped he could pass as _joking,_ but Stark understood him.  “These are yours,” Stark said.  “And pretty much all you have left from your entire life.  Are you sure you’re okay with me wearing them?”

He was not at all _okay,_ so he didn’t answer.  “People will love that you’ve taken them from me,” he said instead.  He stepped back, looked the man up and down, and had to admit: “And they look perfect.  That’s the detail you needed.  You look more...”

Stark looked in the mirror.  “The word you’re looking for is _badass,_ ” he said.  “It’s great.  The only thing is, I can’t wear my bracelets with these, which means...”  Then he frowned.  “Actually, hold on.  How pissed would you be if I made some alterations?  Invisible from the outside.  I just want to add a little tech, okay?” 

He tried not to look desperate.

“Come on - please?  It would be incredibly cool.”

_No no don’t touch them don’t destroy them please give them back they’re mine and all I have._ But his pride wouldn’t allow it, so he swallowed and made himself answer: “As you will; my possessions are yours to dispose of.” 

Instead of breezing off to the workshop, though, Stark kept whining as if he’d refused.  “Why not?  Come on.  Okay, tell you what: I can make whatever I do removable and I’ll undo it when I give em back.  I will return them totally good as new.  _Then_ okay?”

Sometimes he hated Stark for always getting his way.  “Okay.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**Ok, by next chapter they should be getting their butts to Asgard.  (But I’m not sure yet; we’ve somehow diverged from what I originally wrote and now things are in a different place than I’d expected.).  Let me know what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

**[Just Before They Go]**

Since he might be gone for a while, possibly completely incommunicado depending on what reception was like in Asgard, Tony had people to see and arrangements to make.  It was too big a pain to coordinate keeping Loki hidden from a constant stream of visitors, so Tony gave him the choice of staying locked in his room or hanging out at Natasha’s place.

Loki only thought about it for a few seconds, which Tony thought was a pretty good sign.  And Nat didn’t seem at all put out; she agreed right away, answered the door in Hello Kitty jammies and nodded Loki a casual hello.  “Food’s in the fridge, but don’t eat the fudge - it’s full of laxatives.”

Loki didn’t blink.  “And you criticize _my_ cooking.”

They seemed pretty cool together, so he left them alone and went to get stuff done.  There were no emergency calls, so he assumed everything was fine...

But when he went to go retrieve his charge the next day, Nat answered the door alone - because Loki was sitting in a chair in the corner, facing the wall.

“He's in time-out,” she explained. 

“I see.”  He’d heard already that _time-out_ was the plan if Loki acted up at Nat’s place, but as far as he knew this was the first time it had actually happened.  He crossed the room slowly; a naughty mischief god should be approached with caution.  When he got close, though, he noticed that looped over the back of the chair were-  “ _Handcuffs?_   Really?”

“We didn’t need them in the end,” Natasha said coolly.  “But that was in case he wouldn’t stay put.  Hey, Loki,” she said - smiling and only a little mean, “You’re done. You can get up.”

Loki stood slowly, almost reluctantly, and turned around with his hands to his face.  When he moved them Tony’s jaw dropped: a big strip of duct tape covered his mouth.

“And _that’s_ because he wouldn’t shut up.  The man was warned,” Nat said calmly, then reached up to nudge his hands out of the way.  “Sorry about this...”

When she pulled the tape off he shouted and grabbed at his mouth.  “Evil- bitch-,” he panted from behind his hands.  “I told you, a cloth gag is much more humane.”

“And _I_ told _you,_ I wasn’t going for humane _,_ ” she said.  “You’re okay.  The red mark’s kinda cute.”

Loki went to her mirror and examined himself, touching it carefully.  “Bitch,” he accused again... but laughing.  “Gods.  That hurt!”

Tony cleared his throat.  “Somebody wanna tell me what happened?”

Instantly Loki looked less amused.  “She, ah... she caught me looking through her desk,” he muttered, quick and nervous.  “But I wasn’t _doing_ anything - I just wanted the wireless password.”

“Dude!  You can’t go through people’s stuff.”  Then his mind caught up.  “Wait a second: your phone is all set up here already.  You don’t need Nat’s password for anything.”

Natasha picked something up from the counter and handed it to him.  An iPad.

“That’s mine,” Loki insisted.  “You never said I can’t have another iPad.  I bought it in cash, in disguise.  No one saw.”

Tony still didn’t get it.  “Why?  We have fifty of these lying around the tower.  _You_ have at least two or three dedicated to your stupid-  Jarvis,” he realized, mid-sentence.  “You wanted a computer that Jarvis isn’t monitoring.”

Loki scowled.

“It's locked,” Nat said, “And he wouldn't give me the code.  I thought you’d be mad if I extracted it from him without you, but now that you’re here to give the okay, we can get started.”  She unhooked the handcuffs from the back of the time-out chair.  Tony was about to tell her off, on the idea that friends don’t threaten friends with torture, but before he could she said to Loki: “I have a whole roll of duct tape.  If you thought the _face_ hurt....”  She looked him up and down, and smirked.

 _Dear God.  That’s Black Widow flirting._  “She’s kidding,” he said quickly, before Loki could worry.

“Really?  How disappointing.”  Loki smirked right back at her.  Then he got serious.  “I do apologize for rifling through your papers.  As I said, I swear I read nothing - I really was just looking for the wireless information.  I wasn’t spying.”

Not that it mattered much; Tony was willing to bet that any papers a guest could stumble on in Nat’s apartment were just junk - if not deliberate decoys.  But she shrugged and said: “I believe you - luckily.  When people try to spy on me, I shoot them.” 

* * *

He was glad, really, to have Romanoff here.   They’d gotten along well all visit, and now she teased him openly - signaling that she was an ally, if he needed one.  If Stark turned truly angry she would intercede for him.

“You don’t have to fork over your password.”  Stark held out the iPad expectantly.  “But you do have to unlock this - now.”

A reasonable compromise, so he entered the code and relinquished the machine with a sigh.  “If you want to know what I was doing,” he said, “You have only to ask.  Shall I explain?”

“Sure.”  Stark’s fingers flew over the screen while he waited.

“I bought it in case I needed to do any research you wouldn’t approve of.  I’ve had it for a while, just in case, but I only really used it for that purpose once.”

“Oh?  Do tell, Princess.”

 _Princess_.  He winced.  “Remember the night we went raving?”

“No, actually, I really don’t.”  Stark made a face.  “But go on.”

“I learned about raves and about the drugs we’d find there.  I did the research I needed to get you drunk, get you there, put temptation in your path yet make sure we didn’t kill ourselves with it.”  Stark didn’t seem to understand.  “I set you up,” he explained.

“You- you _set me up?_ ”  Stark exploded.  “To _use_?  What, like you thought that would be _funny_?”

Actually he _had_ thought that, and actually he’d been right.  But that was before he’d learned that Stark was a _recovering addict._ Romanoff had told him so last night, explaining that Stark belonged to a class of former drug users attempting total abstinence.   _What you have to understand about these people,_ she’d said, _is a lot of them believe that if they slip up just once it’s a quick slide back into their old ways.  Stark’s a little more flexible on that than most, but still, any drug use is a big deal to him._

Thank all the gods for Romanoff’s explanation; Stark’s rage would have confused and terrified him otherwise.  But now he was ready for it, and ready to answer.  “It wasn’t for a joke,” he said quickly.  “First of all I didn’t know, but I do now, that the question of getting high is a terribly serious one for you.  Obviously, I won’t do that again.”  That seemed to pacify somewhat, at least.  Loki went on with his explanation.  “In any event, I did it so that exactly what happened, would happen.  I wanted an excuse to impose a serious punishment, which I would force you to inflict on _me_ even though I was innocent.  I needed to know whether you could mistreat me.”

“Mistreat you?  Why - Because you're even more of a masochist than anybody guessed, or...?”

Some genius.  Loki rolled his eyes.  “Because in Asgard you'll have to conform to Asgardian behavior - which may include treating me badly.  I had to know that you could do it - that you won’t say no and stubbornly stand up for me.”

Stark snorted.  “You’re not looking at Captain America here, pal.  Nobody’s ever accused me of being a stickler for doing the right thing.”

Loki had let one too many of those comments go.  “Why do you always do that?” he asked.  “You compare yourself to Rogers unfavorably, as if-...”  But Stark wouldn’t want to talk about this in front of another Avenger, he realized.  He waved it off.  “Never mind.  In any event, that was why.  I suppose you’ll punish me for it.”

 _Do it,_ he prayed, _Do it and be done._   The idea of going to Asgard with Stark harboring a grudge was terrifying; he needed to know that the slate was clean between them.

“Yeah, but at home, don’t worry.” Stark said.  He made a face in Romanoff’s direction.  “No looky-loo’s.”

While he didn’t know what a _looky-loo_ was, he understood from the tone that Start was trying to be protective.  Of _him_.  Any lingering apprehension vanished, and he followed Stark out in good spirits.

(After giving Romanoff a farewell kiss on the hand, which she rolled her eyes at but seemed to enjoy.).

* * *

Once they’d gotten home and Loki had taken his spanking (not a hard one even though the Ecstasy was a pretty serious fuckup; he was still wearing cane marks and Tony felt bad), they started to pack _his_ suitcase.

It turned out to be easy: if Asgard was going to sneer so hard at business suits, then they probably constituted ideal slave attire _._   (Loki had explained that while it would be appropriate for him to wear rags at home, Tony would look impolite if he brought a badly-dressed attendant into Odin’s presence.).  So, they packed him sweats and t-shirts for hanging around the house, and a dark suit with sunglasses for the meeting. 

“This is great,” Tony said to their reflection, “We look like a futuristic space villain and his henchman.”  Also, it was a plus that nobody could see Loki’s eyes.  Lessened the chances of him pissing someone off with one of those sneery _looks_  of his.

“Exactly.  We are playing roles,” Loki said firmly, “And don’t you forget it.  You must behave as expected in public.  And we must give Odin what he wants, and humbly agree with whatever he says - about how I don’t deserve to live, about what you should be doing to me - everything.  Do not antagonize him.”  It was about the thousandth time Tony had heard the lecture.  “Our goal is to preserve the status quo.  It is a _disaster_ if Odin removes me from your custody.  An unmitigated disaster beyond anything you can understand.  Whatever you have to do to avoid that, I am begging you, do.”

“I hear you,” he said (again).  “Loud and clear.”

* * *

  **[In Asgard]**

Travel was easy.  Arrival was surprisingly easy; Thor had met them at the Bifrost and himself led them into a guest suite at the palace.  With Thor by their side, nobody bothered them.

Their door was closed and locked, and Thor promised them they would not be disturbed, and they felt better.

Until someone knocked anyway.  Loki put his face to the peephole, and swore.  “It’s the Queen.”

Stark blinked. “Your _mom_?”  He marched over and opened the door with conviction, but then could only stammer: “Uh, hi, uh, Your Majesty.  Do you, uh, wanna come in?”

She didn’t step over the threshold.  “Loki?  Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

He couldn’t leave her in the hallway; she shouldn’t be seen here.  He growled down to the carpet: “This slave begs forgiveness for its inattention.  Your Majesty: Tony Stark, the Man of Iron.  Stark, this is Queen Frigga of Asgard.”

It was enough to get her through the door, at least.  She stepped inside and waved the door shut behind her.  “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, but her eyes were glued to _him._ “I need to speak with you both.”

He summoned up all his will and shook his head.  “We have nothing to say to one another.”

“Ho.  Whoa.”  Stark nudged him - hard.  “All your bitching about _me_ respecting the local customs and not stepping out of line... and now you’re going to be rude to the _Queen_?  Nuh-uh.”  He faced her again and gestured to the room.  “Want to sit down?”

Frigga smiled at him - a little strained.  “Oh, it won’t take long.  I just want to tell you what to expect tomorrow, so that you aren’t caught unprepared.”

“Awesome.  See that, Bambi?”  Stark nudged him again, insistently, and was a good long time in withdrawing the touch.  _Gentling you like a skittish horse_ , he thought hatefully, _And it’s working._ “This is intel we need.”

As it was already too late to convince Frigga that their relationship was normal, he had nothing to lose by ordering Stark: “Don’t be so familiar with me in public.  It looks wrong.”

“We’re not _in public,_ ” Stark argued back.  “We’re with your mom, who’s in contact with Thor, who’s already seen us do each other’s sunblock and split a sundae.  Relax.”

Frigga cleared her throat.  “Boys.  If I could have your attention.”

They both straightened up.  (Stark muttered an apology, but Loki managed to keep silent.).

“At the outset Odin expected that you would be cruel and vengeful, Mr. Stark, and that Loki’s life in your service would be miserable.  He’s now come to suspect that he was misled - that’s not to say _wrong,_ for Odin is never wrong - and that Loki’s sentence is not the punishment he had intended.  He means to ask for the details he needs in order to determine whether the situation should continue, or whether Loki should be consigned to someone who will treat him more in line with the Allfather’s expectations.”

This was disaster.  Loki had thought that Odin meant simply to deliver a lecture about the proper treatment of slaves and criminals, a lecture to which Stark would nod deferentially and then be allowed to continue on his way.

But actually interrogating them about the particulars of their situation?  Disaster.

Stark whistled.  “How good is Odin’s bullshit detector? he said bluntly.

“Too good to permit outright lies,” Frigga said at once.  “The Allfather can be manipulated and misled, as can we all, but he _is_ generally able to detect deceit.  I would not lie to him.”

“But you would... mislead him.”  Stark had no subtlety whatsoever.

He had to speak up, before Frigga endangered herself any more than she had already.  “Stark.  Enough.”  He stepped up and took Frigga’s hands.  “Thank you for the warning, Mother.  We will be careful.  Now you should go.”

She tugged free and touched his cheek.  He wished he had the strength to duck away from her.  “I’ll find a way to visit longer tomorrow.  Goodnight, my son.”  Then she turned to Stark.  “I'm glad to have finally met you,” she said.  “And to answer your question: who do you think convinced Odin to send Loki to you in the first place?  Goodnight.”

After the door closed behind her Stark rubbed the back of his neck.  “Damn.”

* * *

Tony let out a breath.  He needed coffee.  It had been a big day, alright, a day he had in some sense been waiting for ever since he flew the suit into a _hole in the universe_ and saw that there was shit on the other side.  Now, finally, here he was, in a magic alien world... except he couldn’t enjoy or study or even think about anyof it, because he was too busy hustling Loki out of sight of people who wanted to fuck with him, stepping into the middle of some mother-son drama, and now, figuring out a way to fool a guy who was apparently some sort of human (Asgardian) polygraph machine.

“Let’s _do_ this,” he said, because what choice did they have.  “Get me caffeine, or whatever it is you people take here to pull all-nighters.  We need to start prepping.”

Loki blinked.  “Prepping how?”

“Ninety percent of speeches are two hundred percent more effective if you have visual aids, so let’s do a presentation.  You’ve helped out with enough of these; between the two of us we should be able to throw something together.  Jarvis?  Start me out with a-... Shit.”  He’d forgotten.  No Jarvis.  No _nothing_ except what he’d brought with him.  This was going to be like working in the Stone Age.

“It’s all right,” Loki said, already settling down behind a computer.  “I can manage whatever we have.  You talk and I’ll implement.”

This could work.  At least he wouldn’t have to reorder his entire creative process.  “Okay.  We’ve got a couple of computers and our phones.  We can set up a local network so that-”

“Already done.  And I’ve got a fresh PowerPoint open.  Start talking.”

“Turn the projector on so I can see - yeah.  Okay.  Now, we need to set up a story he’ll believe.  A _long_ story - distract him and bore him, so that by the time we get to the sketchy part, he no longer gives a fuck.  So let’s start with a little background about Earth and about me.”

“Mm-hm.  We shouldn’t invent out of whole cloth, but feel free to take some creative liberties,” Loki suggested.  “They know very little about your planet, and it’s best if they think it’s a harsh and inhospitable place.  Oh!”  He looked up.  “You told me once there’s a documentary.  About you in the caves...?”

A good idea.  And it actually would be on one of the hard drives he had with him.  Except he couldn’t; it would throw him off his game and right now he really, really needed to concentrate.  “Tell you what: you can do that part,” he said.  “Later on, by yourself.  For now let’s skip to the part where I got hold of you and put you to work.”

Loki snorted.  “Work.”

The amusement was a wakeup call: even Loki, who actually _did_ desk work on a daily basis, didn’t think it counted.  Odin was going to want him chopping wood and scrubbing floors, eating scraps and dressed in rags.  “Right.  I’m going to start looking through pictures and see what kind of story we can tell,” he said.  “In the meantime, whether it feels like _work_ to you or not, shut up and do my title page.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	21. Chapter 21

 

They pulled an all-nighter and it was, in Tony’s view, insanely productive.   They put together a long talk with a massive deck that included diagrams and photos and video clips and animations.  Around dawn Loki went to bed (in the room’s only bed.  It occurred to Tony around his eighth cup of coffee that Loki was probably expected to sleep on the floor.  Assholes.) while Tony rehearsed.

The part about his lab was the most tricky, because he'd only started letting Loki in there recently - once they were already friendly, and Loki was strutting around like he owned the place, dressed way too dapper to pass as oppressed.  There weren't _many_ workshop videos he could use... but there were a few, and they were pretty striking.  “You guys may have heard from Thor that I have a flying suit of armor.  This is it.  Looks effortless now, no?”  A fifteen-second highlight reel.  “But it required intense work, testing, improvements.   When I first made the suit, I did all of the testing myself.  Can’t say I enjoyed it.”  A workshop clip of him rocketing headfirst into a wall, then getting doused by a fire extinguisher.  “My work is secret,” he explained, “And valuable to my enemies, so I couldn't hire a stranger to do it.  But it wasn't the kind of help you can ask your friends for.  So I was stuck, for the longest time, being my own experimenter _and_  test subject _and_ note-taker.  Until you so graciously offered me this guy.”  He'd gesture in Loki's direction. 

“He does a pretty wide range of things.  Starting with the menial stuff like clean up spills.”   They had a great shot of Tony standing over him while he wiped, snarling _Next time I'm gonna have you lick it up._   “All the way up to dangerous jobs like testing a new targeting system for rescue grabs.”  A clip of Loki stepping off a rooftop and Tony grabbing him in a dive.  The video was cropped so that the safety net didn't show, and the audio filtered so that you could clearly hear him bitching that his arm was broken.  (It wasn't.  Tony had only ever dislocated the shoulder, tops, and since the latest improvements he wasn't even doing that.).  “He’s basically at my disposal for whatever I need.”  A clip of Loki plopping down at the bench, sweaty and haggard, and deadpanning into the camera:  “Attempt number seven-hundred and forty two...”  It was hard to use that clip with a straight face, because it had really only been attempt five or six.  Loki just didn't have a lot of patience for the scientific method.

“It sounds fine,” Loki groaned from under several pillows.  “Now go to bed, Stark.  You should do this rested, and you've only got a couple of hours left.”

“I'm still tinkering.”

“I'll tinker.  I need to add some bits from your Iron Man documentary anyway.”  Loki got up, looking crabby and not at all well-rested himself.  “Where is that?”

The actual finished movie was so slick and stylized it made his skin crawl.  It was interview clips interspersed with shadowy fake bad guys moving among indistinct rock formations in the dark, narrated by voiceover he'd been too pissed off even to listen to recorded.

“You want the, uh, raw material,” he said finally.  Odin wouldn’t be any more impressed with the fake stuff than he was.  “It’s heavily protected - protocol fourteen.  Takes a minute.”  He sat down at the computer and let it scan his eyes and right ring finger, spoke a password, typed a password, and answered a series of color-matching questions.  When the section finally opened up he sorted by date stamp and showed Loki where the good stuff was likely to be.

The first clip Loki looked at was him in the cave, with a bag over his head, the Ten Rings guys barking angrily at the camera.  Blech.  “Skip that one,” he ordered, “I wasn't even conscious enough to narrate what the hell was going on.  And if you stumble on any sex tapes, skip them too.  I'm going to bed.  Good night-slash-morning.”

* * *

It took Loki only a few minutes to identify the best pieces about Stark in the desert caves.  Enough to show that the man’s enemies were numerous and brutal, that he'd fought them alone at overwhelming odds, that he'd triumphed using cleverness and a great deal of force.  Some maps showing how many more there were left to kill - a job Stark was handling alone, as no other mortals could equal him in battle.

That presentation would establish that the mortal was worthy of respect, and that there was a great deal of hard labor to be done in assisting him.  That should please Odin.

Once he was satisfied with what he'd put together, he spent a little time adding details elsewhere that Stark had missed.

Once he was done with _that,_ he browsed through the secret files, as Stark was asleep and in no position to stop him.  He started with the ones with the most boring titles - those were undoubtedly where the most interesting material was hidden.  _Ventilation Sys Test_ was Pepper Potts (whom Loki had still not been permitted to meet in the flesh) drunk on champagne and laughing as Stark tinkered with an arc reactor in a tube.  “C'mere.  Get in there,” he ordered.  “Lemme see you do it.”

“No!  I told you,” she said, “You are your own mechanic from here on out.  I am done!  That was a one-time deal.  I am never, ever sticking my hand into your body again.”  Silence.  “Oh god - forget I said that.”

Stark, of course, did the opposite.  “Hm.  So would it be accurate to say, Miss Potts-”

“No- _Tony_ -” 

“-... that on at least one occasion.. you have-”

“Tony!”  She lunged at him, spilling her drink, and covered his mouth.  “Oh my _god_.  I can’t be _lieve_ you.”

Once his mouth was uncovered he said: “If I pulled it out right now, what would you do?”  He grabbed her wrist when she tried to climb off him.  “The _arc reactor_ \- what did you think I meant?”

She pressed a finger to his lips.  “Stop.  Or I'll pull it out myself.”

They kissed.  (A clumsy kiss, in Loki's opinion; Stark was much smoother with the women he picked up in clubs.).  Just when he was starting to wonder whether this would turn into a sex tape after all, Stark broke the kiss off in order to lean over and fiddle with the camera.  “And that's a wrap for today, folks.  We will be testing the unit another time.”

“ _You_ will be testing the-” Potts argued, as the video ended.

The video was sweet - and terrifying.  It had never occurred to him that Stark's machinery could break down - that he walked around just a faulty wire away from death at any given moment.  And hardly even seemed to worry about it.

He watched a few other clips, but he was intruding on material that was clearly meant to be kept private and eventually he felt bad about it.  He closed the folder and went to go wake Stark up so that they would have time to bathe and dress. 

Stark yawned and checked the time.  “So, what'd you get done in an hour and a half - did you make me look super impressive?”

“ _I'm_ impressed with you.”  It was only half a joke.  “But I'd be more impressed if your hair weren't so greasy.  Come on: bath.”

* * *

The “bathtub” was more like a pool.  Tony wished he had an hour to kill and a gallon of bubble solution, but he did the best he could with what he had and it was awesome - until Loki came into the bathroom and just sat there  _watching_ him.

Fortunately Tony Stark did not have a shy bone in his body.   “You know,” he said easily, still soaping himself, “In some places it's considered a little weird to barge in on another guy showering and just sit there staring creepily.”

“Your machinery: is it working all right here?”

Why?  He had never shown the slightest interest in the arc reactor before - even when Tony had talked about it, bragged about it, offered to show off some of what it could do.   Hm.   He looked closer and saw that Loki was staring hard at him, pale and fidgety, radiating tension.  

Aha: a freakout was on the horizon.  That was _exactly_ what he needed, was for his partner to freeze into a useless ball of anxiety that couldn’t manage rational thought. 

Hopefully he could be talked off the ledge.  Tony busted out his most casual, calming tone and went to try.  “It’s working great.  And I brought a whole case of stuff out of my workshop just in case anything needs repair.  I’m in good hands - I am literally the number-one expert in the universe on arc reactor technology.”

Loki slid down off his bench to sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning so close Tony wondered if he might try to touch.  “But if something were to go wrong with it,” he pressed, “Would you even stay conscious?”

He sort of told the truth.  “Yeah, usually.  At least for a while.”  He supposed the worry was understandable - how much would it suck to stand there uselessly while your only hope for a decent life died right in front of you.  “Tell you what,” he offered, “When we get home, I’ll sit down with you and teach you some basics.  That way, on the off chance it ever acts up when you’re around, you’ll be able to help out.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Loki said at last, and sat back.  “Sorry.  I just-... I watched some videos of you working on it.  I didn't realize.  It's scary stuff.”

“I promise I’m not going to kick off in front of you today, okay?”  When Loki looked to be breathing again, he got up and went for a towel.  “And today we have bigger problems than my arc reactor.  Why don’t you go get dressed for it.”

Loki nodded and started stripping down, and Tony didn't comment on how gross it was that in Asgard it was apparently normal to use someone else's used bath water.

While Loki washed (in _used bathwater,_ euw), Tony got dressed in his crazy space-villain outfit, loaded their presentation into a projector for Loki to carry, and tested the controls he’d installed in his borrowed armor-sleeves.  (Vambraces.  Whatever.  Sounded like a orthodontic device you’d try sell Dracula: _Count, your fangs will be straighter than you’ve ever seen them!_ )

“Remember,” Loki told him once they were both in costume, “You needn’t go out of your way to be an overbearing douchenozzle, but don’t ever forget that I am beneath you.  You mustn’t be familiar or friendly or even polite.”

“Take a chill pill.  I got it,” Tony said, and then his brain caught up with his ears.  “And-, and I needn’t be a _what_?”

Loki gave a defiant little shrug.  “Lately I’ve been looking up all your earth words I didn’t understand.  I like that one.”

Right - looking them up on a secret iPad he wasn’t supposed to own.  “Hey.”  He reached out and snatched the god by the chin - hard.  “As awesome as our earth life is,” he said, “This is not the place.”  Gave him a shake.  “Today has to suck.  You ready?”

The grip had to hurt, but Loki didn’t pull away.  “Yes, master.” 

* * *

The guards led them to the throne room.  By custom Loki trailed behind the honor guard, much too far away to mention to Stark as they approached that it was very, very odd to hear the throne room so quiet.

When they got inside, the room was empty.  “What the hell,” Tony said to the guards.  “Where’s Odin?”

The leader of the guards, who had taken them all the way from their room without giving them any clue about what they would find (or not find) when they arrived, finally opened his mouth.  “The Allfather’s attention is on other matters today,” he said.  “Perhaps he will see you tomorrow.”

“Gee, things must be really different here in Asgard,” Stark said loudly.  “I mean, where I live, if somebody unilaterally rescheduled a meeting _they_ had requested, after the other party had traveled thousands of miles to see them, without even an in-person apology... that would be considered not just _rude,_ but actually a deliberate message intended to convey an attitude of disrespect.  It’s so weird how customs differ, you know?”

The guard just said: “We’ll show you back to your rooms.”

* * *

As soon as they were alone again, Loki ripped off his suit jacket and hurled it onto the bed.  “Stark!  The first and only time you open your mouth to an Asgardian, and it’s to be rude and sarcastic!  _What is the matter with you_?”

“Me?  The matter with _me_?!”  Shit.  He tried to calm down.  “Look.  I know you’re stressed.  I know we’re in a dangerous place.  But regardless go easy on your outfit, because we don’t have the steamer here.”  He picked the jacket up off the bed and shook it out.  _Say something nice._ “I am going to try and behave myself.”  That was fine... but then he slipped.  “Hey, and I have this novel, crazy idea,” he went on.  “How about _you_ try and behave yourself too?  Like stop fucking shouting at me.   That goes way beyond a couple of asshole remarks to some guard in an ugly helmet if anyone hears it - and anyway, for once, the fact that there’s a shitshow going on is _not my fault_.”

Loki paced hard but didn’t say anything else.  By now Tony knew enough Loki-ology to recognize it as a good sign, so he didn’t say anything else either.   Eventually the pacing slowed.  “Sorry.  I know it’s not your fault.”

He was willing to meet in the middle.  “Five percent my fault, maybe.  I _did_ run my mouth a little.”  Loki cracked a smile at that.  “Any idea what that was about, by the way?  Cancelling on us with no heads-up?”

Loki shrugged.  “I assume it’s what you said: a deliberate humiliation.”

In a way that could actually be a good thing - it meant, at least, that Odin probably wasn’t planning on inviting them in and then smiting them dead on the spot.  Tony had previously put the chances of that pretty low, maybe two percent, but it was nice to be able to cross the possibility all the way off the list.

“And what about the kiddie table - what’s _that_ supposed to tell us?”

“The what?”

He rolled his eyes.  Whatever _research_ the guy claimed to be doing, plenty of basic Earth words still sailed right over head.  “Tonight’s dinner plans, spaceboy.”  _That_ had been even weirder than the cancelled meeting; the guard had said over his shoulder, without even looking at them: _You will be dining with the Prince tonight.  Not in the main hall._

“I don’t know.  How should I know?”

“Well I dunno, maybe because Odin is your _dad-_ ”

“He is _not_ -!”

“-and your _king-_ ”

“Not anymore-”

“AND IS THE GUY WHO RAISED YOU AND TAUGHT YOU WHAT PASSES FOR MANNERS IN YOUR FUCKED-UP WORLD! _”_

Loki fell silent.  Finally.

“So,” Tony said, much more calmly.  “After living together for hundreds of years, I’m figuring you’ve got to be on the same page.  Tell me what’s going on here.”

Loki sighed and plopped down on the bed.  Put his head in his hands.  “Stark.”  He sounded only tired now - not crazy.  “If I were anywhere close to _on the same page as Odin,_ do you really think I’d be living out my days as the slave of a mortal?”

Great.  So they were up shit’s creek without a paddle _or a guide._

(Actually they did have a paddle; they’d packed it just in case.  But still.)

* * *

**TBC.**

Sorry the last few have only been weekly updates instead of every other day.  Most of this is new material though, not what I’d originally written, and writing from scratch takes longer than just polishing & posting.  Next update will likely be the weekend again.

Thanks for sticking with me this far, and especially thank you to everybody who’s commented!  I love hearing from you guys.


	22. Chapter 22

On their way to meet their dinner companions, by a side staircase where they wouldn’t be seen, Stark paused a moment to look out a window.

As a result, Loki rounded the last corner by himself - and was immediately grabbed by the shoulders.

“Sif, hello-” he tried to say, but she slammed him into the wall. 

“I was _hoping_ I’d get a moment alone with you.”

“You must know I’m really not in a position to-”

“If you ever, _ever,_ ever even _think_ about playing him false again, if you ever so much as-” 

“Hey!”  Stark appeared and strode up without hesitation.  “Tony Stark.  Nice to meet you.”

She let go reluctantly, and took a step back.  “Stark, this is the Lady Sif,” Loki said, hating the way his voice wavered but there was nothing he could do.  “Close companion of my brother.  Very loyal.  To him.” 

He fully expected Stark to start in with his practiced flirting, or at least clown and crack some Xena jokes... but Stark only gave a cool nod.  “Hi.” 

 _Don’t make enemies for my sake!_   How many times had they discussed it.  Before he could think of a way to signal, though, Thor and the other idiots appeared and there was no more privacy at all.  

* * *

The fat guy gave Loki a look that Tony didn’t like.  The silent guy gave nothing away.  The blond was the only one who smiled.  “Loki!  Good to see you, you look great, how are you doing?”

Loki didn’t answer and was bristling visibly when the guy touched him, so Tony figured it was time to step in with some moral support.  “Can I just say I love your moustache,” he said seriously.  “It’s like, literally the best stache I’ve ever seen in the flesh, which says something because I hang out with a lot of 70’s porn stars.  Is that gel?  Can I touch it?”

The blond looked a little taken aback, and Loki got between them.  “In Asgard they use wax to style their hair, not gel, and no it’s not polite to fondle other people’s facial hair here either.  If you’ll permit this slave to humbly offer some advice: _behave yourself, you ass._ ” 

Tony ruffled his hair and winked at the blond.  “He never lets me have any fun.”

“Aye, that’s our Loki for you,” the fat one laughed.  Not really a friendly laugh.

“Fandral,” the blond said, offering his hand.  “And that’s Volstagg and that’s Hogan, and Sif’s other pretty one besides me.”  Tony shook; he seemed like a decent guy.  “It’s good to meet you.  Any friend of Loki’s - a small and select little band, to be sure - is a friend of mine.” 

Tony couldn’t tell if the guy was being a dick or just teasing rough, but Loki looked genuinely pissed.  Thor too oblivious to notice.  On the way down the hall Tony moved so he would be close enough to whisper, and said: “I may be just a stupid mortal, but I think I’m an improvement over these guys.”

* * *

Loki just rolled his eyes, but... he was.

* * *

“Yes please,” Tony said immediately when it was time to order drinks.  He threw his arm around Loki, partly to look encroachy to Thor’s friends without _actually_ doing something objectionable.  “Just one for him so he can babysit, but me?  I plan on matching your prince there drink for drink.”

The whole table laughed and woo’d.  Wished him luck.  “We cremate people here in Asgard,” Thor said.  “Will that be all right, or are there some other rites you’d rather we observe for you?”

“I’d be careful, Thor.”  Loki was smiling, but it was sharp.  “Stark is _very_ experienced.  He’ll give you a run for your money.” 

 _Ouch._  If Nat had really told Loki about his history, that was kind of a nasty thing to say.  He moved his arm and scooted a little ways down the bench.  “Just for that, I’m puking on _your_ half of the bed tonight.”

Sif banged her mug on the table.  “You’re going to give him half the bed?  Gods, _my_ men never do that; I have to fight them for it.”

Sif was a beautiful woman and normally Tony would take the opportunity to proposition her, but he was distracted by Loki’s hand on his sleeve.  “Stark-” 

There was a particular sort of frowny seriousness that came over Loki’s face when he was going to apologize - like apology was something unpleasant and confusing that required a lot of effort.  “It’s okay,” Tony said fast, because the last thing he wanted was to get into all that in front of all these people who would hardly even understand that you should be ashamed of becoming so trashed you puke into a bidet because you think it’s a toilet and then shoot yourself in the face with ass-wash water thinking it’s the flusher and then puke _again_ when you realize what you’ve just done.  (People who would _really_ never understand that that was the rock-bottom story you told because your _actual_ rock bottom was so much worse, and so much less funny, that you couldn't even talk about it.).  “Really.   But you’re DD tonight.”

“He’s what?” Thor laughed, smiling and oblivious as ever.

“Of course.  But not in front of _them_ ; that would be heinously cruel.  You wouldn’t.” 

It took him a second to figure that out.  “Oh - not _that_ DD - which by the way yeah I wouldn’t, cross my heart.  _Designated driver_.  You know what that is?”

“Ah.  Yes.”  Loki relaxed, and turned his attention to the others.  “The mortals have rules about public drunkenness,” he explained.  “You aren’t allowed to drive their vehicles if you’re intoxicated, which means that when friends go out for revels together one of them’s got to stay sober in order to drive the others home.” 

The fat one cracked up.  “Good thing we’ve never had rules like that!”

“Oh, but it would hardly have inconvenienced you,” Loki purred.  “You’d have just always had _me_ do it.”

The guy laughed it off... but Sif didn’t.  “And you’d have driven us all right off a bridge for spite.”  Ice cold.

“ _I_ can swim.”  This was vintage nasty Loki, the kind of shit Tony hadn’t seen in a long time.  “So can Thor.  Volstagg probably floats, but as for the rest of you-”

“Hey.”  Tony interrupted him with a smack in the back of the head.  “Be nice.  Friends don’t threaten friends with drowning.”  He held eye contact until Loki dropped his eyes.

“Sorry.”  Under the breath, sullen and reluctant.  But then he glanced around the table and muttered “Sorry” again. 

Nobody seemed to know what to do with that - Tony would be willing to bet Loki didn’t apologize to them very often.  He leaned forward and smoothed things over.  “ _Nobody_ would float with the kind of armor you’re packing there, pal.  What is that - not steel, right?  It’s beautiful.  You wear a whole suit of that when you fight?”

Volstagg showed the piece off.  “If only.  This came from Alfheim - we don’t have it here.  Even getting me this much almost started a war.  You’ve got a good eye.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda my job.  May I?”  He leaned over the table to look closer.

“Stark’s a fantastic armorer,” Loki said.  “He built a suit that’s protection, and weapon, and wings in one.”

“Like Thor’s hammer,” Fandral put in.  Bright and cheery - Tony put the chances at about fifty percent he was just making conversation, and fifty percent he was being a dick.

It bugged him.  “Something like that.  Buddyboy and I got into it once, actually, and my suit held its own against the hammer pretty well.”

Thor’s smile was huge.  “My friend, of course I was not fighting at my full strength.” 

That bugged him even more. “Neither was I,” he shot back.  “Of course.  The suit’s got missiles that can level a building.” 

“I am much stronger than a building,” Thor laughed.  He didn’t sound pissed or like he was on an ego trip, he just sounded... like he thought it was true.  

For all Tony knew it might be.  And anyway, this was not the place to get pissed at his one and only friend.  “Well,” he laughed back, “Don’t worry, I didn’t bring it, so no matter how drunk we get I’m not going to suggest we go outside and run some tests.” 

That got everybody laughing, and reminded everyone that there was supposed to be a drinking contest in the works.  They ordered more rounds.  He found a second when everyone’s attention was elsewhere and stole a look at Loki.  Loki was slumped and sour, nursing his drink, not adding a damn thing to the conversation... and nobody acted like that was anything wrong or even out of the ordinary.

* * *

Stark drank much more than Loki would have thought was wise, but the idiots were all enjoying him and Thor seemed delighted, and it wouldn’t have been worth the immense effort necessary to convince everybody it was time to stop.  He resigned himself to yet another night of cleaning up after a drunken mortal - this time, without even the help of Stark’s machines to do the actual scrubbing.

But as soon as they were back in their rooms, Stark straightened up and lost most of the slur from his voice.  “Have those guys always been like that, or are they just like that now that you’re, you know.  Different.”

He couldn’t keep the surprise off his face.

Stark preened.  “Boot and rally.  A must for a small guy who likes to drink with the big dogs.”

“Boot and what?” 

Stark rolled his eyes, as if put out to have to explain, but Loki knew he loved it.  “Every couple of rounds you run to the bathroom - or in this case, a potted plant because you can’t find the bathroom - and barf,” he said.  “Preemptive puking.  It’s really the only way to go.”

He blinked.  “Humans are fucking bizarre.”  Then he attended to the question.  “They’ve always been like that.  Thor calls them _our_ friends, but they don’t like me and they’ve only ever tolerated me because he makes them.  I needed them once, badly, when Thor was away, and they betrayed me.”  The words came easily, but there was nothing behind them - for some reason his usual rage was absent, and he didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Oh.  Bummer.  I know what that’s like - my best friend for fifteen years betrayed me.   Pulled out my arc reactor and left me to die.  Asshole.”  He burped.  Not _entirely_ sober, then.  Loki flinched from the smell of booze and bile.  “Now I have _no_ friends.”

He didn’t protest, as Thor would have, that Stark had the Avengers.  Those were his brothers in arms, and that was a special bond, but it wasn’t... _personal_ in the way a friendship might be.  He chuckled.  “Believe me, I know what that’s like too.”

“Hey.  You have me.”  Stark frowned.  “Right?  We _are_ friends, aren’t we?”

“How should I know?”  He made himself finish the thought.  “I don’t know what friends are; I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”  It came out more irritated than bitter.  Crisp.  He almost didn’t feel ashamed of it.

Stark laughed.  “Same here, really.”

“You’ve got Pepper.”

“No.  I like Pepper, I trust Pepper, I’d do anything _for_ Pepper - and I want to you-know-what with Pepper - but I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

He was looking pretty miserable.  Loki wanted to lighten things up before they slept, so he said: “Well _I_ don’t want to you-know-what with _you,_  so perhaps we’re friends after all.”

Stark was quiet a moment.  Then: “If I puke, it is definitely going to be on _your_ side of the bed.”

* * *

Stark didn’t snore, or kick, or steal all the covers.  He was actually an excellent bed partner - except for one brief episode of nightmare-noises, which abated as soon as Loki jostled him and ordered him to hush.

He rose early in the morning despite his drunkenness; his half of the bed was already cold when Loki awoke.  He seemed to be in the bathroom - the buzz of the electric razor was- 

... the electric razor?

There was no electricity in Asgard.  They were _supposed_ to be conserving what power they had brought so that there would be no danger of the projector running dry when they needed it for Odin.  Loki barged into the bathroom to remind Stark of that, and froze in horror.

Stark was powering his razor _with his arc reactor._   “You’d risk your life for a _fucking shave_!?” he barked - and snatched it out of his hand.

“What- what, what the fuck?”  Stark stammered uncomprehendingly.  Then: “You think I’m going to _run out of batteries_?”  He didn’t answer.  It sounded silly put that way, but yes.  “Relax - jesus.  This thing could run a whole city’s worth of razors.  Think of me as the Energizer bunny, okay?  I keep going, and going, and going, and-”

“I don't care.  Why risk it?  Shave like a normal person.”

“Why?  Because my other option, which by the way is _not_ how normal people do it, is for me to borrow your fucking _straight razor._   Thanks but no thanks, I actually need this jugular.”

“You mean you don’t know how to shave with this?”  Loki picked it up.  Nice and heavy, not like the pathetic bit of plastic he had on earth.  It was _his_ , from long ago - in a rare moment of intuition Thor had guessed that he’d appreciate having it returned to him.  Stark shook his head.  “Fine, I’ll do it for you.  Sit down.”

“Whoa.  Drop it, Sweeney Todd.  Nice and slow.” 

The words were gibberish but the tone made his meaning clear.  “Relax, I’m not going to cut you.  I’m good with knives.  I could do it blindfolded.”  Lest the mortal think it was an idle boast, he added: “Thor and I used to win bets that way in bars all the time.” 

“In _bars._   Good lord.  Because _that_ doesn’t have bad news written all over it.”

“Sit down.”  Stark didn’t really obey, but he didn’t resist either as Loki guided him into a chair, positioned him and spread the oil on his face.  “I never cut him, not once.”  He had a better chance of keeping the man still and silent if he occupied him, so he kept talking.  “The only time a stunt ever went at all awry is one time I hit an apple off Thor's head with a throwing knife from fifteen feet away.  Some idiot thought we’d used magic to cheat, and cold-cocked me before I even took the blindfold off.  Volstagg cut him in half with an axe.”

Despite having a blade at his throat Stark couldn’t help opening his mouth.  (Loki still didn’t cut him!).  “Aw, see, Tubby totally _is_ your friend,” he complained.  “Only a friend would chop somebody in half in a barfight for you.”  Half a beat.  “I mean, you know, only a friend _or a psycho murderer,_ but whatever.” 

“Mm.  We call them _berserkers_ here, and they’re not frowned on.”  It was the perfect opportunity to apologize, especially with Stark’s eyes closed and his own busy on what he was doing.  “Neither are alcoholics, by the way.  When I mentioned your drinking last night, I didn’t mean offense.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Stark said peacefully.  “We cool.”

“Good.  Almost done here.” 

“Mm.  I still wish I knew what the hell your dad was up to.”

 _Nothing good, I'm sure._ “We’ll find out soon enough.”

* * *

This time when they got to the hall, it was definitely not deserted.   They could hear the racket for blocks’ worth of hallways, and Tony really wished they could be walking side-by-side so that they could chat.  He had no partner, and no Jarvis either.  He really wasn’t used to walking into danger in _silence,_ and he didn’t like it.

Guards threw the huge doors open for him and he headed on down the steps.  Through the main aisle.  _Act like you own the place,_ he reminded himself.  _Pretend you’re Thor._

Thor was there, actually.  Standing on the stairs which led up to a throne on which sat the grand high asshole himself.

 _Nice eyepatch.  I should get Fury one like that._  

Thor was gesturing to him, tiny but furiously.   Like he would forget.  “Allfather,” he said, and went down to one knee.  Saluted, with a fist to his chest, and tried not to hum anything from Star Trek.

It was silent... and Tony Stark really didn’t do well with silences.  “Well, hey I’m, uh, glad you could see us today.  I know you’re a busy man.  Er, god.”   He stood up, because it felt just too ridiculous to stay there kneeling, and ignored Thor’s glare.

Odin heard the little dig, though, and answered it head on.  “Yesterday you would have wasted my time,” he said shortly.  “I hope that today you will not.”

“I- uh-.”  _Shit._   What did that mean?  Shit, shit, shit. 

* * *

 

**TBC.**

**Sorry to be slightly cliff-hangy!  I'll update as soon as I can.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Sorry this took a while - it turned out to be mega long.**

 

* * *

It was time to accept that he just had no clue.  He didn’t know a damn thing about Odin or about what Odin wanted to hear (and neither did Loki, he suddenly remembered.  _If I were anywhere close to on the same page as Odin, do you really think I’d be living out my days as the slave of a mortal?_ ).  It was time to start paying attention and figuring it out.

He could do this.  Going in to make a presentation blind was absolutely within the realm of his experience, even under a pressure situation.  He had sold mass weapons to strangers.  There really were no higher stakes than that.

Waiting for Odin to make the first move would probably be seen as a sign of weakness.  “Kay - I’ve got the floor?  Great,” he said.  “So my understanding, and feel free to jump in if this isn’t right, is that you wanted kind of an update on how things have been going with Loki down on earth.  What he’s been up to, what his life is like, that kind of thing.  While I’m not the _biggest_ shutterbug on the planet, I do tend to do a fair amount of documenting what goes on in my life and my lab, so I have some nice visuals to sort of help the story along.  Hit it, Bambi.”

He glanced down at his wrist and saw the indicator go on - the projector was working; the field up.  He called up the first image, and tried not to smirk at the huge collective gasp and murmur.  He grinned. _You people really need to modernize._ He turned to get started...

...And almost gasped himself.  The picture that was up, life size and visible to an entire auditorium of people, was of Loki in his supersuit - bowing down on the floor.  Hands and knees, face to the carpet, the whole deal.  While Tony slouched on the couch watching him grovel, like some kind of asshole king on a throne.

 _Shit oh fuckola._   That picture was never supposed to see the light of day.   And _here_ of all places, in front of Loki’s friends and family and everyone he’d ever tried to impress.  The guy was never, ever going to forgive him for this.  (If he even lived through the day - _I think you can imagine what it would do to me if anyone saw,_ he’d said; there was a very real chance he would throw himself off a balcony.).

Wait a second.  The wave of cold horror had distracted him from the obvious truth: Loki had put the image in himself.  He _had_ to have; Tony certainly hadn’t done it.  He’d been poking around in Tony’s top-secret archives, and he’d found it, and... why?

He glanced over, but there was nothing to see - Loki was standing all still and formal, hidden behind dark sunglasses.  Hm.

Then he noticed that the murmurs had become _laughter._   That pissed him off.  He checked to see what Odin thought... and weirdly, Odin didn’t look happy either.

He trusted his instincts, and switched gears.  “I know, right?” he said, turning to nod at the crowd.  “It’s funny, isn’t it?  Bizarre.”   He turned back to Odin.  “That was me goofing around,” he said flatly, “And trying to conceptualize what exactly you guys meant when you told me that Loki was henceforth _my slave,_ because in the time and place I come from, there’s actually no such thing.”

The atmosphere of amusement abated - people seemed confused and a little displeased.  Odin’s mood seemed to change too - he wasn’t close enough to tell for sure, but it looked like the god’s expression had maybe lifted a little. Good.

“So let me tell you about earth,” he went on, clicking through to an image of the planet from space.  “And what I do on it.  And what I’ve been doing with _him_ on it.  And hopefully that will put us all on the same page, you know, because as I said, I’ve really been shooting from the hip on this whole thing.  You gotta understand.  That?”  Flipped back to the kowtow picture.  “ _That_ looks just as absurd to me as if everybody in this room - you and me included, Sire - put on dresses and did the cancan.  Hey.”  He turned to Loki.  “Do they have the cancan here?”

“No.”  Loki was quick and polite and emotionless.  “They dance, but not the cancan.”

“Mm.  Shame.  Anyway...” 

* * *

Stark was in his element.  Dodging and spinning and changing direction, dazzling and distracting and misleading without ever really crossing the line.  Even as a proud master of deceit, Loki was impressed as the man (hung over and overcaffeinated, no less) seamlessly wove a new presentation out of their old one, yammering on about earth and his own heroics with a brashness that won over most of the Asgardian crowd.  He recast their “work” footage as an explanation of why it had heretofore been so hard for him to get help.  “I can be really difficult to work with,” he explained, as the video showed him snarling _Wipe that or next time I’m gonna have you lick it up!_.  (That had been totally deserved; the spill had only come about because Loki had neglected express instructions.).  “My work can be boring.  And dangerous  And I’ve never known anybody with the patience to help.  But this guy here, thanks to having been made permanently my bitch, has had to cultivate it.  And he’s done, actually, better than I would have expected.”

Stark was playacting.  He knew it.  And yet, it was _hard_ to stand by quietly as he was denigrated and devalued.  Stark described him as a combination of janitor and living test subject, when really, his contributions in the lab of late were so much more.  _Without me your last experiment would have been an explosion instead of a success_.  He’d noticed a machine overheating dangerously and cooled it with his bare hands; Stark had been amazed at how much heat he could absorb and unlike the alternate safety device his touch hadn’t damaged the machine at all.  But of course Stark mentioned none of that.

Stark finished with the work discussion and moved on to the more general material.  He paused only briefly on a picture of Loki sprawled on the bed airing out a set of cane marks.  “The few, you know, disciplinary incidents we’ve had we’ve all handled like adults, and learned from, and put behind us.”  Few.  Discipline.  Adults.  _Right_.  At least watching Stark cheerfully lie through his teeth about all that was enough amusement to get him through the humiliation of having everyone see.

His office, his time with the other Avengers, his attempts to learn various Earth skills.  Stark went through it all, ending with a picture of their first excursion to Wendy’s.  “Loki’s had to get used to living helpless on a foreign planet, doing and seeing things that are totally alien,” he summed up.  “Sometimes it works out, sometimes not.  I brought him to a fast-food restaurant, which is basically normal people’s favorite place to eat, and got him a snack most humans adore... and this is the face he made.”

A far cry from their first cut, which had described a Frosty as a _frozen chemical sludge,_ purchased from an establishment _that sells the lowest common denominator of food to the hoi polloi._

“I’ve basically been trying to get Loki accustomed to the earth, since it looks like he’s going to be there for a long time.”  He paused a moment, almost hopefully - as if he expected Odin to speak up and say something different.

 _Let it alone._ He squirmed and shifted his weight and fought the powerful compulsion to run up and physically grab Stark and force his impossible mouth shut.  _Preserve the status quo.  That is all we should hope for._

“But anyway.  So now that I’ve kind of given you a sense of what goes on in Stark Tower... I think it’s your turn.  I was told you had some concerns about all this.  I, uh... I’m listening.”

“Very well.”  After a long silence, Odin drew himself up and began.  “It pleases me to see that you’ve imposed some sort of order on the chaotic creature that I once called son.  He has been in dire need of it, it seems, for many years.”

“No problem.  I’ve heard that parents are actually the people _least_ equipped to impose order on their kids.”

“It pleases me also,” Odin said without acknowledging him, “That you’ve immersed him in the life of Midgard.  I fear his heart is cold, and perhaps constitutionally deficient, for reasons I will not explain now,”  ( _Thank all the gods; perhaps I don’t hate you after all_ ), “But I think that if there is any hope of wringing some remorse from him, the way you’ve chosen is the only means that might be successful.  Perhaps, should he come to understand Midgard and accept it as his home, he will in time come to truly repent the damage he has done to it.”

“That’s the plan, anyway.”

“Mm.”  Odin shifted in his seat.  “But there is also something that does not please me: your kindness.”

Ah, here it came.  Stark’s guard rose instantly.  “Okay...”

“I gave Loki to earth so that earth could exact its vengeance,” Odin said, his voice harshening.  “In particular I gave him to _you,_ who call yourself an _Avenger._ But you have taken nothing that resembles vengeance.  More troublingly, you have actively protected Loki from the vengeance of others.”

 _I knew it._   Odin wanted him hurt and oppressed.  Now he would direct Stark to-

“Okay,” Stark said briskly.  “I hear you.  So what you’re saying is we have a political problem.”

_What?_

Odin shifted in his seat.  “In so many words.”

Political?  What did Stark mean?  And how - _how_ \- had Stark understood Odin better in a single meeting than Loki had after so many years?

“You extradited this guy to earth so that earth could do what it wanted with him,” Stark said slowly, “And now you think I have somehow blocked that from happening.”

“Haven’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Stark said at once.  “Earth doesn’t work like Asgard - there isn’t one person, or even one group or country, that speaks for everybody.  I don’t speak for earth - all I do is try and defend it, however _I_ think makes sense.  And what I think makes sense, right now, is to get this guy invested enough that he won’t ever again do what he did.”

“I see.  If your main concern is that he presents a future threat, I can order his execution.”  Odin was completely cool.  “I understand execution has become a touchy subject on Midgard, but here it is routine, for crimes as grave as his.  We could take care of it this very afternoon.  Would you like me to do that?”

A murmur went through the crowd.  Not a disapproving murmur though - it was excitement.  Malicious excitement.

Loki stifled a smile.  He’d had an instant of panic there, worrying that Stark might be tempted by the chance to get rid of him so neatly, might actually say yes in a moment of weakness.  But the crowd’s reaction would annoy and disgust the man; now he would refuse just to spite them.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Stark said firmly.  “If there _is_ such a thing as a good candidate for execution - and I’m not saying there is - Loki isn’t it.  He’s moving in the right direction.”  He shook his head and put his hands on his hips.  “Besides, I’ve invested a lot of time and energy in this guy, and if you kill him, it’ll all have been a waste.”

Because the mortal’s precious time and energy would matter so much to the Allfather.  Loki’s nerves suddenly couldn’t take it anymore and he snorted with lightheaded laughter.  “Oh, perish the thought.”

Stark turned to him slowly, and thankfully _his_ poker face held up much better.  “I am speaking in your favor.  You really wanna push your luck?” he said, heavy with warning.

All for show, certainly, and Loki knew to do his part.  He bowed his head, clasped his hands.  “Please forgive me,” he said, loudly enough to be overheard by Odin and some of the nearer spectators.  “The stress of all this is considerable.”

“Mm.”  Stark nodded as if satisfied, then faced Odin once more.  “Look, I understand your concern,” he said.  “But we can address it.  If anybody ever asks why this fruit loop is living in my tower instead of a dungeon somewhere, I’ll say that the answer is because I said so.  It was my call.”

“Do you have that authority?”

“Technically no,” Stark admitted without hesitation.  “But SHIELD does.  The organization I work for.” 

“Then have you disclosed Loki’s situation to SHIELD?”  Back and forth fluidly, reasonably, as if they’d spent their entire lives sitting across from one another at a negotiation table.  Loki felt physically sick with jealousy; what had Stark ever done to earn that tone?

“Not yet.  But I could eventually - I’ve been setting the stage.”

“ _Eventually_?” Odin pressed.  Still reasonable.  “What does that mean - months, years, decades?”

 _Decades._ Now they were tossing around his future, his _life,_ like the options on a dinner menu.  All of a sudden he couldn’t hear any more.  “Master, Allfather: Forgive the interruption, but I don’t feel well.  With your permission I’ll step out to the toilets.”

“No,” Odin said shortly.

Stark turned and gave him a look of irritation (as if Odin’s word wasn’t the end of the matter!).  “Can you hold it for two more seconds?  We’re almost done here.”

He rode out a wave of anger, and bowed.  What choice did he have?  He spoke in Odin’s direction.  “As you command.  My apologies.”

Stark looked up at the throne again.  “Look, why don’t we do this: now that I know what you want, I’ll go back and get to work, and I’ll check in in a couple of months with a progress report.”  Odin seemed pleased... but Stark, as usual, could not leave well enough alone.  “And in the meantime you’ll stop playing Sauron,” he added.  “Because honestly that’s creepy.” 

* * *

Loki kept it together pretty well, but he was clearly freaking out just below the surface.  Tony got rid of their escort guards as fast as he could, slammed the door behind them, and locked it.  “Relax,” he said right away.  “I said what I had to in front of your dad, but I promise I am not giving you to SHIELD.”

All that got was a forced smile.  “Of course.”  Flat and emotionless.  “Oh look: Mother left me a note.”  He bent and picked up a bit of paper from the floor, still dazed and distant, and read it over.  “She can’t see me today, but she’ll reach out through Thor and visit soon.  She sends you her regards.”  Great - Mom had stood him up.  That should help his mood all right.

It was totally understandable that Loki was not doing great.  He’d been chugging along thinking he would never have to answer to humans for what he’d done, and now, Tony had all but promised that it was in the cards for someday.  Still, things weren’t that dire.  “Look, I bought some time at least, right?  Maybe Nat and I can break the news gently.”  _Right_.  But Loki didn’t answer.  “Maybe we’ll actually come clean to Fury someday and maybe not, but whatever happens they can’t _do_ anything to you.”  He was weirdly agitated by Loki’s refusal to feel better.  There had to be some way to reassure him.  Hadn’t he learned to trust at all?  “No matter how pissed they get, they need me more than they need their pound of flesh.”

That got a reaction, at least - but not the one he was hoping for.  “Their _what_?  I thought your country had outlawed that kind of punishment.”

“No no no, that’s _literary_ flesh, not actual-...”  He couldn’t even.  “God, you people are so fucked up.  Never mind.  When can we go home?”

“Now.  Now.  Let’s just-... now.”  Loki ran a hand through his hair.   “Go out into the hallway and tell the guard-... never mind.  I’ll do it.  You stay here.”

Out in the hallway the guy took a tone that made Tony cringe.  “Excuse me.  My master would like to speak with Prince Thor, but he would prefer that I stay and attend him rather than deliver the message myself.  Could you please have Prince Thor sent for?”  Back inside he made a face, looking a little more like himself at least.  “So damn inefficient.  _Go get my brother_ was on the tip of my tongue.”

“Keep it together; we’re almost home and done with this bullshit.”  Loki nodded in his direction, at least.  It would probably be better to get him talking.  “Hey, so, how do you think it went?”

“I don’t know.  I can’t even think.”  Tony made questiony eyebrows at him, and he explained: “While some of the miseries I’d feared did _not_ materialize, seeing Odin was awful in ways I hadn’t anticipated and I just-... I want to go.”

“I second that.”  They’d get home and put a movie on and everything would just chill out.  Hopefully. 

* * *

At home, he rebuffed Stark’s offers of conversation and food and entertainment - he just wasn’t in the mood.  He sat down to read, but discovered he wasn’t in the mood for that either.  He tried not to think of anything Odin had said; he _definitely_ wasn’t in the mood for that.  Perhaps he would go out and stand on the balcony. 

But when he stood, Stark did too.  “Okay, Bambi,” he said briskly, “Lie down.  Paddle time.”

He thought back.  What had he done?  Stark wasn’t displeased with any of his behavior in Asgard; as soon as they’d returned here he had given a congratulatory back-slap and declared: _You, my friend, are a saint._   He hadn’t done anything rude or annoying, so...?  “Why?” he said at last, from where he was.

Stark let a long breath out the side of his mouth.  “I can lie,” he offered, “And say you did something wrong.  Or, I can lie and say I just feel like hitting something and would you please be my whipping boy.  Take your pick.”

He would have believed either of those explanations, actually, and would have made no objection.  But this cryptic strangeness he could not accept.  “How about you tell me the truth.”

Stark gave a big theatrical wince.  “Promise you won’t be mad at me.”

“How could I-?  How could I promise that?”  The fool said that to Pepper Potts over the phone at least once a week.  Loki had always thought it ridiculous; how could he know how he would feel in advance?  He tried to understand.  “Do you want a promise that I won’t fly into a rage?  I’d think you hardly need one; we both know I’m in no position to lose temper with you.”

Stark sighed.  “Okay, let me rephrase: that’s an order.  _Do not_ get mad at me.  Okay?” 

He raised his chin.  “That’s even more absurd, as well you know, but all right.  I do live to obey you, after all.”

“I was thinking that we’ve both had a really stressful time.  You in particular.   A spanking generally seems to chill you out, so I thought maybe it would be a good idea.”  He paused.  “I know we’re treading damn close to the line, but for the record I am not at all suggesting we cross.”

“No kinky freaks here,” Loki agreed at once.  That and _no homo_ were among the silliest of mortal words he had picked up, but there was something to be said for destroying uncomfortable subtext by simply naming it.  How much less would he have resented Thor if they’d ever been able to jointly, honestly face the truth that Odin didn’t love them equally and never would?

Stark flashed him a quick nervous smile.  “So?”

He shrugged.  “Why not.”  _Why not indeed?_ (He could think of a thousand reasons, beginning with how a Prince of Asgard would never-.  But he was _not_ a Prince of Asgard, not anymore.)  “How many?” he asked, to drown out his own thoughts.  Five would be over almost before it started. 

“Whatever you want - I’ll just keep going until you say when.  Unless it’s a mistake to leave you in charge,” Stark added almost at once.  “Like, you’d better not try and hold out to see whether your ass can last longer than my conscience.  I have no intention of playing paddle-chicken with you.”

“Paddle chicken?”

“Which by the way you would lose.  I have no conscience.”

Busy trying to sort out _paddle chicken_ and piece together what Stark was talking about, he ignored the last comment entirely - it was nonsense and if Stark was fishing for compliments he wasn’t about to give them.  “You want to know that I won’t be too proud to call a halt.”

“Exactly.  I know you _could_ tough out a whole helluva lot, but that’s not fun and let’s not go there.  Kay?”

“All right, no He-Men.  I’ll let you know when I’m-.”  _When I’m not enjoying it anymore._   But he caught himself in time; how mortifying would it be to speak that aloud!  He revised himself.  “When it becomes uncomfortable.”

He changed out of his suit into sweatpants, and in the meantime Stark juggled the paddle end over end restlessly.  “I don’t think there’s actually a plural of _He-Man_ ,” was all he said.  “I think the whole point is there’s only one.”

He made his way to the couch, but paused with his hands in his waistband.   He really didn’t need to disrobe for this; he wasn’t being punished; there was no need to subject himself to the indignity of stripping.

Though, _not_ subjecting himself would drive home the fact that Stark was beating him as a friendly gesture, almost to pleasure him.  That he was not just _permitting,_ but inviting.

He decided that the humiliation of pulling his pants down would be less than the humiliation of the alternative and did it, _relishing_ the little twist in his stomach and burn in his cheeks.  At least he still had enough pride to be embarrassed.

Stark touched his hip.  “You don’t have to-...” 

“Of course I do,” he said at once.  “You never hit me hard enough as it is; another layer of padding and we’ll be here forever.”

“Right.  Of course.  Silly me.”  Stark laid a hand on his lower back - a habit left over from canings, surely, since with the paddle there was no need to protect his tailbone or touch him at all.   He didn’t mind it.  He could tell a lot about Stark’s state of mind from the feel of his hand, and sometimes fished for ways of getting contact so that he could spy.  Today the hand was steady, cool, dry.  Heavy too; he was relaxed, even leaning on Loki with a little weight.  (He didn’t mind that either; in fact, it was a good thing since it allowed him to pretend that he was being held down unwilling.).  _CRACK._  

He gasped despite himself - the stroke was hard and sudden.  Before he’d even had time to dislike it, though, the sting had melted into a flood of heat.  “Mmph,” he said, and shifted.  Not complaining, exactly, but just acknowledging that he’d been hit.  Sometimes, when he was feeling defiant, he pretended not to feel a thing.

Stark chuckled.  “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”  He rubbed a moment, then struck again.  Not as hard.  “That okay?  Or too much?”

“No, it’s fine.  The first was fine as well.”

 _CRACK._ “Then I think you’ve leveled up.  Once upon a time that would’ve hurt.” 

Once upon a time he’d been tense and frightened.  It had never been physical pain that made punishments difficult, no matter how hard Stark thought he was hitting.  “Perhaps you’re just getting weaker,” he proposed.  “Don’t mortals lose their strength as they age?”

“Mm.  I may have to let you get the last word this time,” Stark said, and delivered another one.  “Seeing as I’m too busy _spanking you_ to argue back.” 

 _That_ came closer to being _too much_ than any of the blows had or would, but he told himself firmly that Stark meant no harm.

As if reading his mind Stark rubbed his back a moment.  “Relax.”  As soon as he did, he was struck hard enough to forget about being embarrassed.

“Mm.”

“Too much?” 

He shook his head.  “It’s good.  Stop asking.” 

He lay quietly as the blows continued - mostly light, with hard ones mixed in every now and then.  The hard ones never surprised him, since Stark always tensed up just beforehand as if gathering his strength.  Eventually Loki thought to start inviting them himself, arching with a nod or murmur of encouragement.

It was entirely enjoyable; he could have gone on forever.  It was only when the mortal paused to shake out his shoulder and griped about needing to switch hands that Loki realized he was being greedy.

He sighed.  “Oh, all _right._   Just a few more, then.  But make them good.” 

“You got it.”  Stark tapped the paddle softly against him as if warming up.  “Dozen?  But if you change your mind say so.”  The set was hard enough that lying still was a challenge, but he made himself do it because if Stark saw him tense or squirm he would probably stop.  As it was he asked “You okay?” more than once.

He _was_ okay.  When the beating was over he felt sore and warm and ready for a nap, so deliciously worn out that it was too much effort to get to his room and almost too much even to crawl up onto the couch and grope for a blanket.  But he made it.  “Thanks.”

“No problemo.  You good?”

“Mm.  It’s good to be home.”  For a second he was horrified to have said that aloud, but Stark just agreed and tossed him a pillow.

* * *

**TBC...**

**I’ve got I think just one more chapter, which takes place a while after this one.  But I think that will probably be it.   It’s not this long, and hopefully shouldn’t take more than a week to get together.  Let me know what you think!**

 


	24. Chapter 24

A/N:  Aaaaaand, here is the end.  Sorry it took so long!  Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**[[Some time later.]]**

The patio glowed, the way it did when Thor came to visit... but when the sparkly dust cleared, it wasn’t Thor.  “Holy crap.  _Loki!_ Cmere - it’s your mom!”  Tony ran over to the glass door to let her in.  “Hi- uh.”  Hi _who_?  The Continental Army had fought long and hard so that you didn’t have to call anybody _your Majesty_ in New York, but calling her by her first name seemed a little too familiar.  Mrs. Odinson?  No, she'd be Mrs. Odin’s-Father’s-Son, if she’d taken his name at all.  Hm.  “Hi, Mom,” he decided at last.  “Is everything okay?”

“For God’s sake,” Loki said roughly, from behind him.  “I know you like to call Odin _Daddy_ when nobody’s listening but you ought to show Frigga a little more respect.  She may be called _Allmother_.  If you’re going to-”

“Hush, Loki.”  She was still looking at Tony, though, and he was getting a little shy.  “Your friend can call me whatever feels true to him.”

“He’s my owner.  Not my friend.”

What the _fuck._   Tony turned around slowly.  “You are the weirdest person I know,” he said.  “And that says a lot.”  They had actually discussed whether they were friends or not, several times, and had concluded that they _were_ , because unlike Thor and Pepper and everyone else they were close to, they actually _liked_ each other as is.  They weren’t sitting around hoping for the other to change.

Instead of answering him Loki just copped an attitude.  Wedged a hand into the back pocket of his skinny jeans and tossed his head to clear his (still too long!) hair out of his eyes.  “What do you want, Frigga?”

“ _You_ must call me what feels true, too.”  Frigga stepped around Tony.  “I am your mother.”

Loki erupted, more suddenly than Tony had ever seen.  “How can you call yourself that?” he snarled, smashing a hand against the wall.  “ _You know what I am_!”

She didn’t blink.  “Prince or slave, you are equally my son.”

“No-.”  His fingers curled and Tony could hear the nails scrape.  “You know what I _am._ ”

Oh, that.  Tony actually wanted to hear about this; he’d managed to respect Loki’s insistence that they not talk about the frosty thing _ever,_ but he really was curious.

But instead of assuring him that there was nothing wrong with being a frosty, all Frigga said was: “I’ve known what you are from the beginning, Loki.”

“Yes and you raised me up next to your _son,_ ” he snarled.  “What were you _thinking_?”

“How many times-”

“And how do you expect me to believe that I was _loved_?  Next to _him_?”

Tony hadn’t heard him this hateful literally _ever_.  It was childish and ugly - and when he came down he was going to be pretty embarrassed about it.  Probably the right thing to do, as a friend, was not to watch.  “Uh, you guys want me to step out?”

Frigga ignored him.  “You have it backwards,” she said simply.  “Thor broke two of my ribs while still inside me, and cracked my pelvis on his way out.  Carrying him so sapped my strength that I was bedridden for months.”

Ow.  “Look, I really should probably go...”

“He was a strong and healthy baby,” Frigga said over him.  “Perfect.  Everything a father could ask for.  And then they brought me you.”

Okay, he _definitely_ should leave the room.  But it was soap opera and train wreck all in one - and anyhow Loki didn’t look good.  He could probably use backup, and since he was currently treating his mom like an enemy, Tony was really all he had left as far as allies went.  Poor bastard.

“You were tiny and helpless and blameless,” Frigga went on at last, a little too breathy.  _In another minute there’s going to be a queen crying in your living room,_ he thought, _Any idea about the etiquette for that?_   “And always a little bit chilly... as if someone needed to hold you close for just a few more minutes.  In those first weeks I think I hardly put you down at all.”

Loki had turned away.  “M- enough,” he said to the wall.  “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Are you sure?  I could go on,” she pressed.  “I have hundreds of years’ worth of love for you.  You can be angry if you like, we _should_ have told you, but don’t you dare doubt that-”

“ _Enough!_ ”  But he didn’t sound pissed anymore.  Just desperate, and emotional.  “I can’t.  Excuse me.”

He fled to his room.  Tony thought the whole thing was really moving... until Frigga looked both ways and dropped all the emotion from her manner.  “Mr. Stark,” she said briskly.  “He’ll be a few minutes.   Now I need to speak to _you._   Allow me to start by telling you that I like and respect you.  I am very impressed with what you’ve done with my son.”

It was a much more benign version of Barton’s _tinker with old demigods_ comment, and he didn’t like it any more the second time around.  “I didn’t _do anything_ ,” he protested.  “If he’s changed for the better that's great, but whatever it is is on _him_.”

Her smile widened.  “So modest, too.  I hear you’re known for it.”  Before he could answer she held up a hand and stepped forward.  “But I have to warn you of something.  I know how to _listen._   And what I have heard is that you have plans, someday, to set Loki free.”

 _S_ _hit._ Shit shit _shit,_ he should have known it wasn’t that easy to put one over on the fucking Allfather.  “Now hold on,” he protested, “I didn’t _say_ that.  All I did was ask was it okay to _sell_ him, okay, and Thor said he’d check, but-”

“Calm down, Mr. Stark.  Thor didn’t hear what I did - and neither did Odin.”

Oh.  So in that case, there was no point pretending.  He shrugged.  “Then, yeah: that’s the plan.  Is it against the rules?  To sell him to himself someday?”  (Loki hadn’t told him one way or the other; for some reason he seemed unwilling to take the idea seriously.  _Come on, think how long it would take me to get the money together!_ he’d laughed.  _We’re talking about some **very** valuable property, and you’re such a cheap employer that my salary hardly even covers my drinking expenses._) 

“No, it would probably work.”  She looked towards the doorway, as if to make sure they were still alone.  “But.  As much as I want to see Loki’s sentence ended, it would not be right for me to fail to warn you.”

“Warn me what?”

“That I have been trying to help Loki too.  With something he craves more than freedom.”  Her voice lowered to almost a whisper.  “The spells Odin used to bind his magic are strong, but they are not stable.  I have been wearing away what seals them, and some day soon the effectiveness of the binding will become erratic.  Loki may find cracks - and knowing him, he will learn to widen them over time.  He may eventually be able to break the spells entirely.  Do you understand me, Mr. Stark?”

He frowned.  “Lay it out for me.”

“One day Loki may be powerless no longer.  I know what havoc he wrought on your realm last year, and I see that there is still rage in him... so if I were you I would approach any course that might result in his liberation with extreme caution.  If at all.”

Suddenly he liked Frigga a whole lot less.  “Sure.  Thanks, mom.”  He gave her a perfunctory smile and stepped back.  “ _Loki!_ ” he called.  “Guest’s leaving.  Come say bye.”

After she was gone, when Loki asked what she’d talked about, all he said was: “You, obviously.  She really cares about you.”  And that annoyed Loki enough to end the conversation.

* * *

**[Few weeks later.]**

He was waiting on Romanoff hand and foot - not because it was his _place,_ or because she’d _ordered_ him to, but because he pitied her self-applied leg cast that made even the most basic locomotion a long and painful effort.

She bore the injury well, in Loki’s opinion, especially given that she was doing it without the benefit of healers or medication.  She was trying to conceal it from her masters at SHIELD, so as not to be pulled from an upcoming mission, and that meant managing without their doctors and without putting any chemicals into her body that the doctors could later detect.

“What do you need?” he said for the thousandth time, without getting up from his chair, as she shifted restlessly.

“Nothing.  A new shin.  I don’t know,” she sighed.  “This sucks.”

“Mm-hm.  More vodka?”

“The day I can’t pour my own vodka, you have permission to bring me to a hospital and/or kill me yourself.”  But she wasn’t pouring - she was drinking straight from the bottle, without any hint of flinch or grimace.  “I’m bored,” she said a moment later.

He sincerely doubted that; she had the patience of a master spy and could sit motionless for hours reciting books backwards to herself when she wanted to.  Still.  “Then I suppose you’d like to be amused.  How?” 

“I don’t know.  Let’s play truth-or-dare.”

Hm.  He’d found he tended to like most mortal games, and this one had a nice ring to it.  He set his book down and leaned forward.  “I’m listening.”

Her smile was full of mischief - and she wet her lips first.  “Whoever’s turn it is picks either _truth_ or _dare_ \- has to either answer a question truthfully, or do some kind of challenge.”  He could see potential for real disaster, and sure enough she added: “We won’t put each other in danger - which also means I won’t say or do anything to jeopardize my work - and we won’t dare each other to have sex.”

“Define sex,” he shot back right away.  He felt he had to push back a _little_ ; he couldn’t let her have her own way in everything.

“We can’t dare each other into _any_ sexual touching.  Do I need to define _sexual touching_ for you?”

He laughed at her attempt to look stern.  “No, I understand.  I won’t dare you to strip, either,” he volunteered.  “Though of course you’re free to dare me.  Do you want to go first?”

She set down the bottle.  “Sure.  Truth.”

He ought to lull her with inanities before asking anything he really cared about.  “If you had to watch Nick Fury fuck one of the other Avengers, who would it be?”

She laughed.  Bit her lip.  He could see her considering it.  “Steve might be the eye candy,” she said at last, “But I’m going to have to say Stark, for sheer entertainment value.  Truth or dare?”

He was suddenly terrified at the idea of allowing her to ask him questions.  “Dare.”

“Chug your beer - upside down.  You can do it against the wall.”

He could probably stand on one hand unsupported long enough to chug a beer - probably.  But it would be embarrassing to fail, so he inverted himself against the wall and did it that way.  For his next question he asked he whether she liked him, and she said she did.

She dared him to perform the Macarena - song _and_ dance.  He asked another harmless question; she dared him to take a flaming body shot off his own elbow.  (“And if you do it without catching anything on fire then  _maybe_ later on I’ll let you do one off me.”).

When she _finally_ chose dare, given her condition he generously demanded something she could do from the couch.  “Call up Stark and read him some of your junk mail,” he ordered.  “In the most seductive tone of voice you have.”

She did it, it was hilarious, he polished off another drink and finally felt relaxed enough to choose truth.

He regretted it immediately, because her question was: “Why are you so pissed to be a frost giant?”  He told her, briefly, and then dared her to snort a line of pepper in retaliation.  Then he chose truth again, so that she couldn’t pepper him right back.

But - once she was done sneezing and gagging and blowing her nose - she made clear that she could get plenty of vengeance with questions.  “Does Stark really spank you when you’re bad?  I’m not judging,” she added quickly, when his eyes snapped up to hers.  “I totally understand the value of spanking as a motivational tool.  I had a handler once who was a big believer.”

When she didn’t mock him for his answer, he finally summoned up the nerve to ask her a real question.  “What would happen if Fury learned that I was here?”

He watched her face carefully - on his more paranoid days he sometimes suspected that she’d sold him out to Fury already.

“His immediate response would be to yell a lot,” she said.  Seemed to be telling the truth.  “But despite the yelling he actually does have good impulse control, so he would _not_ roll in here guns a-blazing.”  She shrugged.  “Tony would tell him that he’s not to touch you, at the price of losing Iron Man and everything else Stark Industries has to offer.  Fury would ask the rest of us whether we could pressure Stark into changing his stance, and we’d say no.  Well - _I_ would say no.  Barton would follow my lead if I called in a favor, Steve would keep out of it, and Bruce would probably remove himself from the situation.  So... you’re good.  Relax.”

He started to, but that made him realize that he had to piss - badly.  When he rose the world tilted, so he counted up the empty bottles to see why.  “You’ve been getting me drunk on purpose.”

She smiled.  “Tends to make truth-telling a little easier.”

It did, but she hadn’t really abused it.  Trying to feel angry at her was a non-starter, so he just made his way to the bathroom.  Carefully.  Stumbling in front of Stark was one thing, but Romanoff was a much less sloppy drunk and would surely look down on him if he couldn’t keep up. 

He pissed endlessly, splashed some water on his face and felt a little more together.

Just as he opened the bathroom door to rejoin the party, though, the party really started.

The window shattered and the apartment door exploded.  Smoke and gunfire.  The place was under attack; four people had burst inside, armed and armored and shooting in every direction.

Romanoff had rolled from the couch in the very first instant, rolled under the coffee table and started returning fire.  But there were too many of them obviously; she was injured already, and couldn’t leap around to evade them.

For half an instant he froze - _he_ was in no position to fight either; he was human and unarmed and tipsy on top of it.

 _So get rid of them._ He cast an illusion and stepped it out into the room.  Nick Fury in all his famous rage - holding a radio.  “ _All units: move in!_ ” he had it bellow.  “ _We got em in the apartment!_ ”

He could hear the attackers panicking.  _Motherfucker it’s a trap! Go go go!_   But the voices were fading; _he_ was fading; he knew he was passing out and did his best to sit down before he fell.

 _Clunk._ Tile.  Ow.

* * *

Tony promised himself that if the guy didn’t regain consciousness soon, he was calling it in.  If not a hospital, then Banner at least.  _Someone_ with medical training... except, how could medical training help this?   _He’s breathing normally - I think he just pulled his magic muscle,_ Nat had concluded, after telling him the whole harrowing story with perfect calm.  _Let’s tuck him in bed and give it a little time._

Tony had brought him home, but decided against tucking him in bed since Loki never invited him into his bedroom and he didn’t want to encroach.  Instead they tucked him in on the couch.  Nat went to go sleep off whatever she’d been drinking, leaving Tony to pace and worry alone.  Loki was out for hours, but _just_ when Tony was getting ready to give up and give Banner a call, he stirred.

Tony dove down to kneel by the couch.  “Hey there, Sunshine.  Wakey wakey.”

“Wrrr.”  Loki’s eyelids fluttered.  “Mm.”  Finally he opened up.  “The couch?” he grated.  “Lazy ass.  When I take _you_ home I haul you all the way to your bedroom.”

As if nothing had changed.  That was sort of a relief - he’d been halfway afraid that what rose up from the couch would be sneering and alien and decidedly _not_ his friend.  He watched Loki struggle to his feet.  “Hey.  Um.  What do you remember?”

Loki turned to him, looking drained and weary.  “I assume we were drinking.”  Then he frowned.  “No-... I was with Romanoff.  We were playing a game and-.”  He jerked.  “We were attacked.  They came-.  _Where is she_?  Is, is she-?”

“No, she’s okay.”  _Definitely_ a relief, to hear him sound concerned about one of his favorite ants.  “You apparently scared them off - by doing magic.  Ring any bells yet?”

“ _Fuck me._   Yes.”  He made a few abortive little gestures, then shook his head.  “But it’s gone - I feel no different.  Whatever happened was a... was a fluke.”  His lips pulled back off his teeth - was that supposed to be a _smile_?.  “At least I passed out afterwards.  Didn’t have to feel false hope for too long.  Now let’s forget it ever happened; I’m going to bed.”

Really pushing his luck here, Tony chased after him a few steps and grabbed his arm.  “Hey.  Look at me.”

Loki looked down at the hand on his sleeve... and stiffened.  Reached up slowly to tap it on the bracelet.  “Please tell me you were concerned that the assailants were coming here next.”

“Uh-.”  He was too slow with the lie, and Loki pulled away.  “Look - I’m sorry, okay!  But I’d be stupid not to take precautions and you know it.  Come on.”  No answer.  “Come _on_ , man _._ For all I knew you were going to wake up shooting fireballs out of your ass and totally thrilled to be able to put the last year behind you.  I had no idea what I’d be dealing with.  I just wanted to be safe.”

Loki cracked his neck hard, a series of crunching _pop_ s that hurt to listen to.  “I suppose that’s why I slept on your couch,” he said evenly.  “So that you could keep an eye on me.”

Unfair.  “No, actually, I put you on the couch because I didn’t want to bust into your room uninvited.  But thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

“My room?” he spat.  “ _My_ room?  Enough with that - it’s _your_ room, it belongs to you, _I_ belong to you.  When are you going to get that through your head?  Even if I can occasionally channel scraps of magic I am still just-”

“-Just _the biggest ass_ on this side of the galaxy,” Tony said over him.  “Enough with that glass-half-empty bullshit, okay?  Your position has way way _way_ improved since yesterday: now we know that you’re not actually a Muggle for life, and you’ve saved Natasha’s ass and she pays that kind of debt.  So, why don’t you cheer up.”

Loki sighed and took a moment.  “Why don’t _you_ calm down,” he said at last.  Soft and sulky.  “I pay my debts too.  I know what I owe you, and I wouldn’t forget it even if I _had_ recovered my powers.  Which I haven’t.”  He crossed his arms.  “Surely if you can overlook the fact that I am a monster and a mere possession, you can overlook that I may have vestiges of sorcery still clinging to me.”

With a heroic effort Tony managed not to fight.  The guy was crushingly disappointed about the magic, and (unfairly!) insulted about the bracelets - and scared, too.  Time to be cool and reassuring.  “Hopefully it’ll turn out to be more than vestiges and I give zero fucks that you’re a frosty and I _told_ you we’re gonna fix the possession thing, but okay, I hear you,” he said.  “I just panicked a little - sorry.  But I’m good with the sorcery if you are.  I won’t be weird about it - promise.”

“Good, because nothing has changed,” Loki said firmly.  “So take the damn bracelets off.”

 _Shit._ But hesitation would cost him, so he made himself do it right away.  “Happy?”

“Mm.”  Loki seemed about eighty percent appeased.

“I hope you know though - along with Iron Men, princes, slaves, guests, whatever - sorcerers also still have to do their share of the dishes around here.”  

“Mm.”  No change of expression - it was hard to tell whether joking was the right move or not.

 _Ah, fuck it._ In the absence of clues he decided to double down; never let it be said that Tony Stark knew when to shut his pie-hole.  “And they’re not immune from spanking, either.” 

At that Loki’s mouth curved into a smile - small maybe but _real_ , not that nasty smug thing he aimed at people who were making idiots of themselves.  He looked away ( _aww, the alien god is embarrassed, how cute!_ ) and shrugged.  “Good.”

* * *

**The End.**

Whew!  This turned out to be _several times_ longer than it was initially supposed to be.  Thanks so, so much for sticking it out with me!   I really appreciate everyone who commented - and if you have more to say now that we’ve reached the end, I’d love to hear it.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:  A Christmas ficlet for this universe.  Takes place a good while after the last bit.**

* * *

Maybe it had been a mistake to insist that the team include Loki in this year’s Secret Santa exchange.  First of all, he didn’t seem to understand the concept of _secret_.  “That’s from me,” he volunteered when Tony picked up a small green-and-silver package. 

And, worse: what was inside the package was a thumb drive.  This had the potential to go _so_ so wrong.  “Am I going to regret teaching you about computer viruses?” he asked - only half kidding.

Loki’s smile was unreadable.  “I promise it’s a good present.  Plug it in.”

He used a laptop that was not wired to so much as a _printer,_ that could do absolutely no harm to anything no matter what Loki did to it.  Loki could see that and his smile grew a little bitter, but he didn’t say anything.

But the worry turned out to be for nothing - what was on the drive was just plans for the dirty bomb SHIELD had been so worried about lately.  Tony frowned.  “We intercepted these already,” he said.

“Yes... but I _stole_ them.  Took every trace of them from your enemies _and_ your friends.  This copy here is all that remains of that bomb on earth.”   Loki grinned and spun a shower of sparks from his hands.  “Merry Christmas.”

The Avengers were all silent.  “Holy shit,” Natasha said at last.

Tony tried to wrap his mind around it.  “You...?  What exactly did you _do_?  Sorry, I just-.  I need to understand.”

“I destroyed what was already under construction - they were getting close to completion, by the way - and their workshop, and some of the places where the components had come from.  I warped the minds of the main inventors.  Burned paper documents.  And replaced all relevant computer files with pictures of tubgirl and goatse.”

Steve frowned.  “Tubgirl and goatse?”

“You don’t wanna know.”  Natasha crossed her arms.  “Actually, Loki, the question is-”

“I’m a god,” Loki deadpanned.  “I know everything.”

Tony was sort of listening, but he was already busy looking around in SHIELD’s archives and yes, what had once been the plans was now several large high-quality NSFW pictures that Tony would have thought were best forgotten by all civilized people.  Though he supposed they were at least an improvement over bomb specs.

Natasha flicked at the thumb drive.  “Smash this?”

Tony winced - he hated to destroy knowledge, _any_ knowledge, and who knew what-

“That’s why I kept the one copy,” Loki put in.  “I knew Stark would hesitate to wipe it from the earth, but if you want my advice that is the best course.  In all the realms there isn’t a truly safe place for anything.”

Natasha nodded and agreed: “Things always fall into the wrong hands eventually.”

He knew they were right, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  “Do the honors, Cap,” he said, and shoved it into Steve’s hands.  He turned away while the drive was pulverized.

* * *

Later that night Loki’s cell rang.  He was unsurprised to see that it was Barton.

“Can Stark hear you?”  Barton said without even a greeting.

“No, I’m home alone tonight.  And the line is secure.  Speak.”

The man wasted not a second.  “You told me once that your mind warp isn’t permanent.” 

“Mm.”  From what he knew of Barton - and he knew _everything_ \- the truth would make no trouble.  “That’s true.  But I thought it would spoil the Christmas spirit if I admitted that I cast a much wider net than just the primary inventors ... and that rather than take chances with mind magic, I vaporized them outright.”  It had been such a joy - he couldn’t remember the last time he had wrought a cold-blood slaughter and felt completely righteous in it.  “Minus the parts that can be used in arcane magic spells.  Those, I took the liberty of retaining for my own use.”

“Okay.  Good.  That’s what I thought.”  A slow deep breath.  “Um.  And one more thing.”  Barton was uncharacteristically hesitant, which gave Loki a good idea of what was coming next.  “Okay, I can’t believe I’m saying this.  But.  Ahem.  Thank you for not... you know... saying anything.  You son of a bitch.”

He laughed softly.  Kindly.  “You’re most welcome.”

Another long pause.  “Look, those are just... they’re things on the internet, okay, _everybody’s_ seen them.  And once you see them you can’t _unsee_ them.  That’s the whole point of them.  Okay?”

“Okay.”  But he couldn’t resist.  “Though I notice you watched _all_ of two girls, one cup.  I have to tell you, I think most humans turned it off after a couple of-”

“Screw you, Loki.”  The hesitation vanished into anger.  “You got a lot of balls, okay, to-”

“Barton.  Enough.”  Gods, no wonder Stark was so terribly bored by him.  Some people couldn’t stand to be teased at _all._   “All right.”  But he felt oddly... beholden.  As if he owed some sort of apology. 

Which of course Barton would never accept, because it would be a lie and they both knew it.  So he did the best he could.  “There will probably come a day when I’m ashamed enough of myself for having violated your mind that I never want it mentioned again.”

Barton was silent.

“Today is not that day, but better luck next year.”

* * *

 

The End.

Possibly the end for realz this time.  (Except that I do have one more bit kicking around in my head for this universe, so there may be one more last thing coming.)


End file.
